


The Fevers We Bear

by Ruebell_Uprising



Category: South Park
Genre: Abortion, Alpha Clyde, Alpha Kyle, Alpha Stan, Alpha Token, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Mystery!Craig, Omega Kenny, Omega Tweek, Omega Verse, Underage Prostitution, arranged matings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:37:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruebell_Uprising/pseuds/Ruebell_Uprising
Summary: Tweek Tweak has gone into heat, bearing a terrible fever and urges that wrack his body with new needs.His presentation sets off a chain reaction that forces the, now teenagers, to grow up quickly. Learning one's dynamic is not always a relief, not when it comes with responsibility, arranged matings, pain and even death.Mind the tags now.---The official re-write of my fic, "The Fevers of Wolves". I apologize for doing this, I hope I don't disappoint anyone.





	1. Sick at School

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, sorry for the re-write.
> 
> This is the renovation of my fanfic "The Fevers of Wolves". 
> 
> It's simply been so long since I wrote that fic that my style has changed and how I wish to present the world of ABO in SP has changed. I intend on finishing this one, and have almost caught up to about where I left off in the original fic, so updates will be consistent for a long time. I will continue to write until it's done, dammit. 
> 
> A few little notes: In this world, the age of consent is 16, as that is the age when most people present and are considered adults; considering Omega’s can become pregnant after they present and Alphas begin to form knots. But technically, in the bylaws, a person is considered an adult once they've presented and can consent to sex. 
> 
> Expect this story to be as dark or darker than the original iteration. This may include: (gang) rape, arranged matings, mpreg, mpreg abortions, graphic illness, spouse/partner abuse, bad heats, etc. I’m writing what I want to read, and hopefully you all understand I do not in any way condone these actions, this is a work of fiction. 
> 
> My favorite Tweek is a messed up Tweek. My favorite Kenny is one that dies a lot. Let that tell you something
> 
> Set in a nebulous time after season 21.

* * *

 

Sound echoes and crashes against his ears, a loud cacophony of voices, scraping forks and grating knives. The clacking and clattering of trays pounds against his skull, the smells wafting off of people’s food cloyingly sickening in his nose.

The hearty smell of black coffee does nothing to cover up the nauseating stench of a hundred meals and bodies.

Tweek’s homemade lunch remains in the crumpled brown paper bag that it came in, untouched. He couldn’t possibly eat it now, not with his stomach roiling and rocking inside his belly. A strange noise escapes his lips, a strained sound that only he can make. Trembling arms wrap around his thin middle, and Tweek drops his forehead to the table.

 _‘What the hell is wrong with me?’_ His mind is a blur of voices, most of them his own, screaming words that him, competing with each other to be heard over a rushing ocean of blood in his ears. 

Tweek is unaware that his whole is body shaking, the jitters being so common for him that he can hardly ever tell when he’s moving and when he’s not.

The empty table does not remain so for long; Tweek can feel eyes on him, can hear the clatter of whoever it is’ tray as it touches down on the table. He wants to look up, but he’s afraid if he sees the food he will throw up.

“Hey Tweek, you okay dude?” It’s Kyle, and he’s not alone. Stan sits down next to the redhead with his own tray, Kenny following, and Cartman lagging behind, ambling towards the table with his two trays laden heavy with food.

Tweek slowly looks up, his eyes watery and vision blurry, his cheeks are flushed and sweat drips down his temples. He watches Kyle and Stan rub their wrists together quickly, repeating the motion with Kenny when he joins them.

“I think I’m gonna puke!” Tweek hisses between clenched teeth. He glances around quickly for Craig, finding him, Token, Clyde and Butters still in line

“Go to the nurse?” Stan suggests, lips twitching uncomfortably. He covers his nose a moment later, grimacing. “Fuck, you reek.”

“I-I can’t miss any more classes!” Tweek replies, groaning and dropping his head back down again. “I took a shower last night,” he adds weakly.

“If you go now you won’t miss class.” Kyle points out. “She can probably give you something for nausea.”

“ _Nng,_ ” Tweek grumbles, hugging himself tighter. He knows Kyle is right, but he doesn’t want to get up, afraid that he will only pitch to the ground. He’d felt fine during first and second period, the disquiet of his system only just beginning in third, and by the time lunch came around he was well and truly feeling ill.

“Come on Tweek, I’m sure Craig will walk you to the nurse.” Kyle coaxes, beginning in on his lunch. “He’s almost through the line.”

Tweek nods, rolling his sweaty forehead against the cool laminate of the table. Time seems to get lost as he waits, fighting with his volatile stomach, yelling at himself to keep it together. He can vaguely hear someone rifling through his brown paper lunch bag, doesn’t care as it is dragged away from him. He can hear Kyle scolding Kenny for stealing Tweek’s lunch, and Kenny’s muffled reply that Tweek won’t be eating it.

“Hands off my boyfriend’s lunch, McCormick.”

“He’s not goin’ ta eat it,” Kenny repeats, pulling out of the bag a plastic wrapped peanut butter and banana sandwich. “He’s sick.”

Tweek twitches, feeling Craig’s eyes on the top of his head. Clyde sits down in the spot directly next to Tweek on his left side and slides a thick arm around the boy’s bony shoulders.

“Aww, you’re not feeling well?”

Tweek shakes his head, although the motion only makes him dizzier. He can feel the world spinning from behind his closed eyes.

“You should take him to the nurse,” Kyle points out, unnecessarily. “He smells sick.” Craig glowers at him, only the smallest of depression between his brows and sniffs the air. It’s not hard to pick out Tweek’s scent over the co-mingling aromas of food and other people. He can’t tell what Tweek smells like besides coffee and stress, but he supposes the twist of something off in his scent must be it.

He sets down his tray and circles around to rest a hand between Tweek’s shoulder blades. He can feel the heat coming off of the boy, shirt damp with sweat, and can guess that he has a fever.

“All right. Tweek, can you get up? I’m taking you to the nurse’s office.” Tweek whimpers, Clyde removes his arm, and Craig’s hands move under his boyfriend’s armpits, pulling slowly to encourage the blonde to stand. It takes a bit of work, but soon Tweek is leaning against Craig’s shoulder, the brunette keeping in arm slung around Tweek’s waist. He grabs Tweek’s thermos, knowing the boy would be lost without it.

“I’ll bring by your backpacks later,” Clyde offers. Craig can’t support Tweek and both their backpacks, anyways.

Craig nods and turns them towards the exit.

Cartman mumbles something about gay boys going to fuck during lunch and the subsequent squawk when Kyle kicks him is satisfying.

Outside the double doors, Tweek feels some relief, but the heat inside his body is getting worse. He wants nothing more than to lie down. His neck especially feels swollen, the glands on either side feel tender to the open-air, and a similar throbbing pain echoes in his wrists. Beside him Craig’s sniffs loudly, scenting the air now they’re in the hallway and more or less alone.

“You don’t smell right.”  

“I think I’m dying,” replies Tweek.

 

* * *

 

 

The nurse’s office is locked, the lights off, the blinds drawn. A note on the inside of the glass door reads: **_back in ten minutes_** _😊_

Craig sighs.

“What are we going to do?” Tweek asks anxiously. Another wave of heat washes over him, heavy and painful, swirling in his lower belly. The brunette sniffs again, as a wave of scent wafts out of Tweek; his stress is sour, his fear is bitter; these are familiar scents, but above all of that is something Craig has never smelled before from his boyfriend, and he doesn’t know what it is.

“We’re going to wait.” He answers simply, maneuvering them towards the wall so they can slide down and sit together just beside the door. He tugs Tweek close to him and encourages the blonde’s head to rest on his shoulder. Tweek’s breathing heavily, eyes closed, mouth parted to let out heated breaths.

It takes everything in Tweek’s power not to throw up, his body shivers where it rests against Craig’s. He manages a few comforting sips of coffee, but the temperature of it feels all wrong, and the taste is stronger than he was expecting.

Minutes pass slowly. Craig rubs soothing circles into his boyfriend shoulder, whispering that he will be okay here and there when Tweek starts to ramble quietly about death.

What must be more than ten minutes later passes and nurse Linda Robinson finally can be seen walking up the hallway, her nose buried in a manila folder. She doesn’t notice Tweek or Craig until she is right upon them.

The Beta woman blinks at them, her eyes going wide. She visibly scents the air, mouth open slightly. When she stops, she frowns and pulls the keys from her pocket.

“You two better come in.” She says simply, unlocking the door, raising the blinds and flicking on the light. It takes a minute or two for the boys to get off the floor, but when they do, they shuffle together into the nurse’s office, shutting the door behind them.

“What’s your name?” She asks, booting up her sleeping computer.

“His name is Tweek Tweak.” Craig answers for him.

She glances back at them before returning to the screen and typing in the name. “You've missed quite a few days of school,” she comments idly, clucking her tongue.

“Can I sit down?” Tweek asks, his voice strained.

“Of course, take the cot closest to you.”

Craig helps Tweek over to the cot and sits him down upon it.

“You can go now…?”

“Craig Tucker.”

“Mr. Tucker. I will handle things from here.”

“Craig can’t go!” Tweek yelps, latching onto Craig’s arm. The nurse glances back at them again, questioningly.

“I can’t go.” Craig shrugs, seemingly unperturbed by Tweek’s clinging.

“Very well, I suppose you can stay during the lunch period.” She types a few more strokes on her keyboard and then stands up. She goes to a cabinet retrieves the thermometer, a stethoscope and a cuff for measuring blood pressure. She pulls a pair of gloves out of her blue and purple scrubs top pocket and snaps them on.

Tweek starts to wiggle uncomfortably, his whole body is sweaty but particularly he feels wet, distraughtfully so, between his legs. He wonders if he is bleeding out. The thought shakes his body with uneasy tremors.

The nurse approaches, using a gloved hand to coax Tweek into looking up. “Say ‘Ah’,” she commands, not unkindly. Tweek opens his mouth and allows her to stick thermometer under his tongue. Craig gives the trembling boy a comforting squeeze.

There is a tense moment while they wait for the thermometer to beep. Craig is sure that Tweek has a fever, and he’s pretty sure the nurse is aware.

The thermometer’s little alarm goes off the nurse pulls it from Tweek’s mouth, reading it and tutting loudly.

“101.4,” she announces. She gently tilts Tweek’s head side to side, checking his scent glands by running her fingers over them gently. They’re painfully swollen, with clear fluid budding at the surface of his flushed skin. The scent of coffee and caramel permeates the room in a fresh wave. Craig sniffs, and the scent leaves him lightheaded it’s so strong.

Tweek quivers, groaning unhappily at the attention. Nurse Robinson takes both of Tweek’s hands and inspects his wrists’ scent glands; they too are swollen, bright red and shiny with the same clear fluid.

Once she finishes Craig releases Tweek to take his hand instead while the Beta nurse takes his blood pressure. The stethoscope is cold against the boy’s feverish skin. The nurse frowns deeply.

“Can you describe how you feel Mr. Tweak?” She asks, pulling the stethoscope from her ears and draping it around her neck. She goes back to her desk, hands poised over the keyboard.

“S-sick,” Tweek begins. “Jesus, like I’m going to throw up! And—and my neck hurts, and my wrists!”

“You’re definitely running a fever, and your scent glands are alarmingly swollen,” She comments, typing what Tweek says into her computer. “How old are you, Mr. Tweak? How much do you weigh? Have your parents been scenting you properly?”

“Fourteen— _aa-ng_ —and I don’t know! Hundred… thirteen, I think, a-and no!” Robinson hums in response. 

“Well, you’re definitely unwell. I’m calling your parents and sending you home.”

“Home?” Tweek’s shoulder twitches hard. “I can’t—My parents aren’t in town!”

“You’re staying home alone?” She asks, brows furrowed harshly.

“He’s staying with me this week.” Craig interjects helpfully. “I’m his boyfriend.”

“I see. Do you think one of your parents will be able to come pick him up?” She opens up another file on the computer, pulling up Craig’s listed phone numbers.

“You can call my mom at work.”

 “Very well.” The Beta makes a quick note, reaching for the phone and stopping midways at Tweek’s loud cry. He curls over his stomach as sharp pain stabs through his abdomen, electric livewire fire lacing through every nerve. A rush of heat overtakes the jittery blond, blood swirling like a whirlpool in his head.

“Tweek,” Craig’s hands hover over his boyfriend, unsure what to do.

“What’s the matter?” Robinson gets up again, coming over to the bedside.

“It hurts!”

“I can tell,” The Beta answers in an even tone. “Describe what’s happening.”

He doesn’t want to tell her that something wet is coming out of him, that the pain preluded a gush of it in his pants. The smell of him grows stronger again, distress and soured anxiety. Both Craig and Robinson’s noses scrunch, and the Beta releases some soothing pheromones into the air.

“Tweek,” She begins again, and he just knows she’s going to make him humiliate himself in front of Craig. “Are your pants wet? Is something coming out of your rectum?”

“Oh God, oh Jesus… yes!” He hides his face from Craig in both palms. His heartbeat thuds in his swollen scent glands.

“Okay, Tweek just calm down, I think I know what’s happening. I’m going to call Craig’s mother and have her come get you right away, all right?”

“What’s happening?” Asks Craig, a note of strain in his nasally voice.

“I do believe Tweek is going into heat.” She replies calmly going back to the desk picking up the phone.

“Heat?” Tweek shrieks, followed with a loud groan. “I can’t be going into heat-- _Jesus Christ_ \--I’m only fourteen!”

The nurse ignores him, the receiver at her ear. The line is ringing. Craig rests his hand on Tweek’s spine, rubbing soothing circles into the boy’s back.

“It’s okay Tweek,”

“Hello Mrs. Tucker, this is Linda Robinson, the nurse from South Park High. Yes, how are you today? …Good. I have Tweek in my office running a high fever and feeling very ill. I think it would be best if you came and picked him up--he is staying with you this week correct? --Good. I can explain more when you get here.” There’s a pause as she listens to what Craig’s mother has to say. “…Yes. Thank you. Yes. Of course. Goodbye.” Robinson hangs up, making a few more notes in her computer. Out in the halls the bell rings signaling the end of lunch.

“You can return to your classes now, Craig, I will take care of Mr. Tweak here until your mother arrives.”

“Craig can’t go!” Tweek whimpers, another wave of pain washes through his abdomen, bringing with it another pop of slick.

“I can’t go.” Craig repeats, shrugging. “I’ll be leaving with Tweek.”

“Now, Mr. Tweak, we don’t want Craig falling behind do we?” She levels a look at the blonde. “I can let him stay until his mother arrives, but whether or not he goes home with you is up to her. Why don’t you lie down? It might help your stomach feel better.”

Craig helps Tweek to lie down, ignoring the spot of wetness on the cot’s sheets. The smell of Tweek is overpowering, drenching the room. Craig ignores how light headed it makes him feel and sits on the edge of the cot near Tweek’s shoulder.

Tweek grabs Craig’s hand and laces their fingers together tightly. His head is a blur, the lights are too bright, the room is too large, everything is just wrong – – except for Craig – – only Craig makes this bearable.

 

* * *

 

Laura really cannot afford to leave work, not with how busy things are, but she also won’t leave Tweek to suffer through whatever is wrong. She fires off an email to her boss explaining that she is leaving early to pick up her son from school. The man does not need to know that Tweek is not actually her son, although he might as well be. She gathers her purse and car keys and shuts down her computer.

“Leaving so early?” Bill asks as she passes his desk.

“Yes, one of my kids is sick.” The Beta nods sympathetically.

“Well I hope they feel better soon.”

“Thanks Bill.”

She isn’t stopped again as she leaves her work. It’s cold outside, bitterly so, and the sky is gray and dark, threatening snow and ice. She’s actually glad to be leaving before it hits. Clutching her coat close, Laura unlocks her car door and slips inside the driver’s seat. She turns the key and hits full blast on the heat, angling the vents away from her while the cold air warms up. She pulls out her cell phone and sends a text to her husband.

**_From: Laura_ **

**_To: Thomas_ **

_hey honey, Tweek is sick. I’m gonna go pick him up. See if you can get off work a little early tonight love you_

She puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking space. It won’t take long to get to the school, it doesn’t take long to get anywhere in South Park, but she worries nonetheless about the minutes that pass. Tweek has never been good about being ill, always worried that whatever he is caught will kill him, and it would be best to get him to the house before he becomes hysterical.

She assumes Craig will be there waiting when she arrives, and the thought brings a smile to her face, her son has grown into a very responsible, caring young man. If he weren’t there with his boyfriend--she would be very surprised.

It takes less than fourteen minutes to arrive at South Park high, another five to find a good spot to park and another few minutes to leave her car and head inside. She pauses at the principal’s office and main office to sign Tweek out. If her hunch is correct, Craig will want to come home with them, and while she does not wish to encourage him to miss anymore school, she knows he’ll be useless in his classes. He and Tweek simply cannot be separated without one worrying about the other. She scribbles her son’s name down under Tweek’s.

The nurse’s office is not far from the main office, and she smells Tweek far before she reaches the door. Dark roast coffee, caramel, spices and the sour twist of distress. It makes her nose burn, his scent has never been so powerful--no, she was quite used to how Tweek smells, his scent is all over her house, and that bitter note of anxiety is not one she is unfamiliar with. But this…

She opens the door and closes it behind her. Inside the smell is overwhelming, and she covers her nose quickly on instinct. Nurse Robinson sits at her desk as if she cannot smell anything, calmly typing on her computer. She looks up and stops when Laura enters, pasting a smile on her face.

“Are you Laura Tucker?”

“I am. Can you tell me what’s happened?” She glances aside and sees Tweek and Craig at one of the cots. The wheels are rocking in minute back and forths, making a subtle squeaking sound as Tweek shakes the bed. Her son looks over at her, his face blank to any who don’t know him well, but Laura can see the angling of his eyebrows, the tightness of his lips—he’s worried.

“Yes, or I can tell you what I believe is going on; he’s not been scented properly recently, and I do believe that Tweek has gone into an early heat, that is, the symptoms match an Omega’s heat.”

“His parents have been out of town so they haven’t been scenting him. Heat?” Laura repeats the word, not expecting that. Tweek whimpers on the cot, and again the scent grows stronger. “Isn’t he too young for that?”

“He is a little young to be having his first heat, yes, but it’s not unheard of for someone his age. Still, I recommend you take him to the public clinic as soon as you can-- with his fever and his scent glands as swollen as they are… I’m a little concerned.”

“Of course,” Laura replies, “I can take him this afternoon.”      

“Good,” The nurse nods absently. She views her job as mostly over with now, as the parent is here to take over.

Tweek definitely looks sick to Laura—his skin is flushed and sweaty, his body trembling wildly, hand clenched tightly around Craig’s. The scent of coffee and anxiety is stronger the closer she gets to him. The Beta woman meets her son’s eyes.

“Craig,” She starts.

“ _Please_ let Craig come with me!” Tweek cries, eyes open and wild, the circles under his eyes stark on his feverish skin. “I-I don’t want to be alone! I’m _dying!_ ”

“You’re not _dying_ , Tweek,” Laura huffs softly, coming to their sides. She places a hand on Tweek’s forehead, feeling his fever for herself. “But you’re not staying here.” Laura shoots a motherly _look_ at Craig, who simply shrugs—it’s not his idea, but he’s not going back to class.

“I’ll skip.”

Laura sighs. “Alright, but just for today. I can’t have _both_ my boys being truants.” She cannot help the affectionate warmth she has for them and their reliance on each other, either. She’s gotten soft, she decides, but the whiff of relief mixing with Tweek’s scent is enough to reassure her that she made the correct choice.

Craig helps Tweek up again, who blanches at the renewed sticky wetness in his pants, uncomfortably squelching against his skin. He shudders in disgust and humiliation. Craig unzips his hoodie and promptly ties it around Tweek’s waist, hiding his soaked jeans.

“B-but your hoodie!”

“It can be washed.” Craig replies coolly. He slings the shorter boy’s arm around his waist and wraps his own protectively around Tweek’s shoulders. He helps guide Tweek after Laura, who leads the way towards the exit.

They file into the Tucker’s car, coaxing Tweek inside with the promise of an old towel--that Laura can’t recall the purpose of it being in her car--for him to sit on. Craig and he sit in the back, with Tweek’s head resting on Craig’s shoulder. His breaths are heavy, hot puffs of fevered air. Stabbing pains plague him throughout the trip, bringing trickles of slick and sweat and soaking his coffee-caramel scent into the car. Laura opens her window a crack, as the scent is distracting and a little nauseating with how strong it is.

Thankfully the health clinic isn’t far away—nothing is, really—and they arrive there roughly twenty minutes later. The lot is nearly full when Laura pulls in, finding them a lucky spot on the side of the yellow building.

Craig and Laura both get out, and Craig helps Tweek out of the car. Tweek’s vision swims alarmingly and it’s Craig’s strength which keeps him standing. He’s losing himself to the heat in his body. They make their way slowly around the corner, where Betas and a few Alphas seem to be loitering. A few women in scrubs stand together talking over cups of coffee, and there’s a tall man in a dark brown trench coat leaning over the guard rail smoking. He twitches as they approach, dark eyes casting over to the three of them as he takes a drag of his cigarette before flicking it away.

He steps cleanly into their path, forcing Laura, Tweek and Craig to stop. He takes a deep sniff, the wind blowing downhill towards him, carrying the scent of dark roast and caramel to his sharply pointed nose. A twisted smile wrenches his lips.

“Well—look at this, a brand-new Omega—and in _heat_ no less…” Something in his eyes shifts, and he licks his lips long and lazy. Craig and Laura tense up, and Craig’s arm tightens around Tweek.

“Go away.” He commands, glaring.

“Why?” The stranger asks, stepping to block them from going further when Laura tries to maneuver them around him. “You came here to get him taken care of, didn’t you? I could help him,” He leers. “As an Alpha it is my duty to help poor little Omegas when they’re in heat.” He swaggers a step closer, his large gloved hand reaching for Tweek.

“I said ‘go away’!” Craig snaps, smacking the man’s hand.

“Get away from my sons,” Laura growls, heckles raised. She may be a Beta but she’s a _mama Beta_.

The Alpha takes another menacing step forward and Tweek, looking blearily at the Alpha, makes a terrified noise and Laura has had it. Tweek’s scent has a sharp lance of fear in it which she will not tolerate.

“Excuse me!” She calls to the four women who were definitely eyeing the confrontation. “We need help here!”

The man snarls, taking another foot forward. He would have dragged his grubby hand down Tweek’s cheek had Craig not swerved the out-of-it blonde away. He bares his teeth at the stranger.

The four women quickly come to them, one crowding in front of the man and the boys. “Sir,” She snaps firmly. “This is _not_ your Omega. You need to break your fixation immediately or I _will_ be calling the police.” She pushes out her own Alpha scent, huckleberry and redwood, her eyes steely. Off-put at the challenge, the man allows the other three women to pull him a few steps back.

“Boys get inside.” Laura orders. Her heart is thrumming and she won’t take her eyes of the threat until her boys are safe.

Craig hefts Tweek against him, flips the man off with both fingers and urges Tweek inside.

The glass doors to the clinic slide open, welcoming the two of them with a gust of hot air. Craig helps Tweek hobble inside, towards the front desk. The room is crowded, loud with people coughing and sneezing. A small tv facing the lobby plays a children’s cartoon at an obnoxious volume. It smells of sickness and sweat, and Tweek’s scent adds to the soupy atmosphere.

“Craig,” Tweek whines, “I think, Jesus, I think that man wanted to kill me,” Craig bites back his initial response; that man hadn’t wanted to _kill_ Tweek.

“He won’t kill you Tweek.”

There’s a Beta woman behind a sliding glass window with a circular depression for documents to be slid under. She has a bored expression on her face. Behind her several nurses bustle about with charts or answering phone calls.

“Can I help you?” She asks when they approach.

“He’s sick.” Craig offers. “Fever, sweating, nauseous.”

“Alpha, Beta or Omega?” The woman asks, clicking on her keyboard.

“…Omega. I think. The nurse at school said he’s in heat.” The woman clicks a few more keys and slides a clipboard through the depression.

“Sign in here and take a seat, the doctor will get to you shortly.”

Craig scrawls Tweek’s name onto the next available line, pursing his lips at how many are ahead of them. In the time it takes to sign in and find three seats that are empty, Laura has entered. She finds her son easily—the shock of Tweek’s yellow hair and Craig’s blue chullo make them stand out to her. She takes the seat opposite Tweek, putting him in the middle of the two.

Craig raises an eyebrow at her.

“I nearly decked that asshole,” Laura grumbles. “How dare he fixate on Tweek like that? The nerve of some Alphas!”

Craig silently agrees with her. He has Tweek’s head resting against his shoulder again, the blond boy practically unconscious but for the endless whimpers and grunts escaping him as he twitches. It’s going to be a long wait.

 


	2. Build a Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek is at the doctors and Craig is there with him. Tweek doesn't quite understand what his instincts are asking of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and kudos'd, to those coming from The Fevers of Wolves and new readers. I know the changes are big--it's a rewrite after all--and some things may be odd at first, but I hope you'll find it worth reading :) Sorry if things aren't quite... I dunno. Right? I just hope you all can enjoy. And please comment/kudos as you will, it really makes me feel good <3
> 
> As always, chapters are prone to minor edits, if anything significant changes I'll make a note of it. Also, shorter chapters mean more uploads!
> 
> Sorry x_x

* * *

 

Two hours pass restlessly. Craig has a headache from the sound of the TV and the children crying, Tweek has long fallen asleep, and his mother has gone through every magazine on the table.

The door to the back opens again, and Craig expects another person to be called.

“Tweek Tweak?” The nurse calls, her voice carrying over the loud lobby. Craig raises his hand so she sees them, and starts to shuffle Tweek awake. Laura stands up and helps them both to get out of the chair. Tweek is barely awake, mumbling to himself about coffee. Then Craig has him up and going, hobbling after the nurse who leads them down the hallway and into an exam room. There’s a special pad on the examination table, something that looks like a puppy pad.

“Sit him on that,” the nurse says, and Craig obliges, standing close by in case Tweek wobbles and falls. She pulls out an iPad and sits on a rolling stool. “I’m a little concerned that he is so out of it,” she comments. “What was his fever at school? Did they take his temperature?”

“101,” Craig answers.

The nurse pulls a thermometer and arm cuff off-the-wall. “Open your mouth,” she orders Tweek. It takes a moment of blinking but he opens his mouth for her, and she slides the thermometer underneath his tongue. While that reads his temperature, she cuffs his arm and takes his blood pressure. Once that is completed, she writes something down on the iPad. The thermometer beeps and she pulls it from Tweek’s mouth.

“102.3” she reports calmly. “Has he been out of it for long?”

“A few hours,”

“And the school nurse thinks he’s in heat? Has he been producing slick?”

“Slick?” Asks Craig.

“Yes,” answers Laura. Another few entries into the iPad.

“Is he on any medications?”

“He’s on Adderall, I know that,”

“All right. The doctor will be right in.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock on the door twenty minutes later, and it swings open revealing the doctor. She’s a tall Omega woman with long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun. She has the iPad from before in front of her and she puts on a friendly smile.

“Hello, I am Dr. Morgan. How are we feeling today?”

“Like shit.” Craig answers for Tweek, who grumbles unhappily.

“Craig, language!”

Dr. Morgan chuckles and takes a seat on the rolling stool. She snaps on a pair of gloves and pulls a light from the wall and examines Tweek’s eyes, finding them dilated and mostly unresponsive. She tilts his head to the left to examine his scent glands. She finds the same thing the nurse at school did--clear beading fluid glazing the top of this swollen skin. It is the same thing on both wrists.

“Has he been producing slick?” She asks Laura.

“We believe so, it has soaked through his pants.”

“I’m going to need to take a sample of it,” the doctor explains. “Can you help him onto his front? No need to remove his pants, I’m just going to swab the inside really quick.” They help Tweek onto his front, knees under him and curled forward on the bed. The doctor pulls the waistband of his pants away from his skin and quickly dips the swab between his cheeks. She lets go of his pants, returning them to normal. The swab is quickly placed inside a small plastic tube and set aside.

“Well, my opinion is that he is in fact in heat. The chart says he’s fourteen, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a little young to be going into heat, and that is probably why he is sick. His body hasn’t matured enough to present thus he has heat sickness. There is probably something in his environment that is caused him to go into heat early, so you should go through his routines and evaluate who he comes in contact with. Extended contact with Alphas or Omega’s could potentially cause an early presentation, or could be a side effect of one of his medications.”

“He drinks too much coffee,” Craig offers up.

“Caffeine could do it,” The doctor concedes hesitantly. “But it’s unlikely. Usually it would have to be a stronger drug to influence the bodies’ natural growth rates like this. Still, it’s not impossible, and with the combination of Adderall… You never really know. My recommendation would normally be that he be put on suppressants after this first heat. However, I am concerned about his fever. It’s gotten higher since earlier, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“I expect it will go up further before it breaks. If you wish I can give him a shot right now that will end his heat early, and it might help with the fever, and other symptoms, but the repercussions will be—”

“I want the shot,” Tweek cuts in, his voice a shaking mess. “I-I’ll die if this goes on! _Agh!_ ”

“I understand, however, I need the consent of an adult, as this will change your heat cycles for at least a year. Yes, it will end this one early, but it will likely make subsequent heats unpredictable in timing and more volatile.”

“ _Gah!_ S-subsequent heats?!” Tweek cries. “I don’t ever want a heat again!”

“I’m sorry. Being an Omega can be hard, but you’ll get used to it.”

 “So, what should we do doctor?” Asks Laura, ready to be done with the day.

“Take him home, run him a bath or shower, and let him nest. He should be scented by family and his pack, if he has one, to help alleviate some of the swelling. Try to bring down his fever with Tylenol and give him something to eat. This should only last four or five days. If you absolutely need to, or of his fever goes up too much more, a nurse can administer the shot anytime, and you won’t have to wait for a doctor.”

“All right, thank you.”

“No problem. I will send the sample out to the lab to see if there’s anything more to be concerned about, but my assumption is that it’s heat sickness and will pass with his cycle.”

 

* * *

 

 

Getting Tweek back to the Tucker house is much easier than it was getting him to the doctors. He’s more lucid than he was, which means he’s more aware of the aches and pains in his body. The fever wracks him with shivers, making all the joints in his body burn.

Craig is exhausted. Tweek has been a heavy weight on his shoulder for hours, not that he truly minds, but it’s nice to foist him off onto his mother while he goes to run the shower and grab a change of clothes from Tweek’s suitcase.

Laura helps Tweek up the stairs, one at a time, the feverish Omega breathing harshly with the minute exertion.

“It’ll be okay, Tweek,” She soothes, leading him to the bathroom. “After your shower we’ll put you to bed and you’ll feel much better when you wake up.”

“ _Nng,_ th-thank you, Jesus, this is awful…” 

“I believe it, hun. You’ll feel much better after a shower. Then we’ll get you some soup and water and you can rest,” At least, that’s what she says. There hasn’t been an Omega and her family since her great-grandmother, so she has very little experience with what he needs. 

"Your instincts will help you through this, Tweek."

“ _Instincts,_ ” Tweek repeats with a whimper. They make it to the second floor’s bathroom, where Craig is waiting. He’s set up a pair of Tweek’s sweatpants and a short-sleeve green shirt on the counter along with a towel.

“Tweek, do you think you can handle showering alone?” Laura asks, leveling the sick boy with a _look_. “Be honest.”

“ _Agh—_ I—I don’t know! I’ll try!”

“Good boy. Craig, will you meet me in the kitchen?”

“’Kay.”

Laura leaves the room, heading back down the stairs. She’ll retrieve the towel from the car and Tweek’s laundry when he’s done with the shower.

 Tweek pauses, hands fidgeting around the tied sleeves of Craig’s hoodie. He manages to undo it, and hands it off to Craig. The brunette takes it wordlessly, gazing expressionless at his twitching boyfriend.

It surprises a quick _“Ack!”_ from Tweek when he leans down the few inches between them and kisses Tweek’s sweat-damp forehead.

“Call if you need help, Tweekers.”

“O-okay, Craig,”

When Craig leaves, Tweek strips as quickly as his shivering hands allow. He drops everything onto the tile flooring instead of on the area carpets, careful to put his sopping pants on top. He dares to touch the wet stains, and his finger comes away with a viscous, cloudy-clear fluid, almost like jelly. It smells strongly of his parent’s special roast coffee. He wishes Craig had left his thermos in the bathroom—he doesn’t know where it is, but some coffee would be wonderful about now.

Despite the water starting to steam up the mirror, Tweek is cold, his aching body relishes the mid-temperature water, and he turns it up a bit higher. He wants to shower quickly so he can lie down again. An odd, itchy feeling has been settling in his chest—something unfathomable under all the other discomforts—telling him there’s something he should be doing but isn’t. His hips throb, a deep place inside him feels lonely, empty and bereft. Tweek’s sure it will drive him to madness if this goes on. He wants to be near Craig—his boyfriend is too far away, even downstairs. The longing comes out as pitiful whimpers.

Tweek scrubs his hair and body as quickly as he can, furiously blushing at having to wash his rear end so thoroughly, as slick continues to slip out of him with pulses of cramps in his middle. It takes longer than he thought he would be conscious for, for the heat has him dizzy, and turning the water off takes a few tries.

He stumbles out of the tub and grabs for the towel, finding it out of reach on his first three tries. Finally wrapped in the fluffy blue fabric, Tweek leans against the wall whilst he dries off, eyes half-closed, just trying to breathe through the aches and pains.

 

* * *

 

 

**From: Thomas**

**To: Laura**

**_Need me to pick up anything? Omw home_ **

**From: Laura**

**To: Thomas**

**_Buy a couple packs of heat pants from the drug store for tweek. Small_ **

**From: Thomas**

**To: Laura**

**_Heat pants?! Oh lord alright_ **

“Your father’s on his way home,” Laura informs Craig, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

“He’s going to bring some heat pants for Tweek so he doesn’t ruin all his clothes.”

 “Okay,” Craig replies. He’s brewing coffee for Tweek, dark and strong, just the way he likes it. There’s not much else to distract him from his thoughts and quiet worries. Laura pauses, listening—the shower has turned off.

  “I know this is a little scary, Craig, but Tweek will be fine. Omega’s have been going into heat for thousands of years; he’ll be fine as long as we get his fever down.”

 “Yeah,”

  “I think he’s done in the shower. Want to go make sure he’s alright?”

 “Okay,”

Craig makes for the stairs, unwilling to admit he’s taking them briskly, thinking of Tweek leaning on him all afternoon, too weak to stand on his own. The scent of Tweek’s pheromones is weaker than it was, the shower having washed much of it away in the steam. Craig raps his knuckles on the door thrice.

“Tweek? You okay in there?”

“ _ACK! SHIT!_ Y-yes, I’m okay! Just getting dressed!” Comes the shrill reply. “Be right out!”

Tweek shoves his feet into the pants legs, pulling them up and then the shirt. Before he thinks of going out, he wipes some more slick from his thighs, feeling like he needs to cross his legs to keep it in, or spread them to—to—he’s not sure what good it would do, but the muscles in his inner thighs are cramping, tightly wound. The ache inside him is getting worse, the urge to wrap himself in every blanket in the house appeared some time while he was leaning against the wall feeling vulnerable and exposed in the closed bathroom in his boyfriend’s house.

Tweek rings his hands. He can smell Craig, just outside the door, his scent is mild, something subtle and cedar. The scent just makes his heated body feel worse—no—a shock of _arousal_ strikes him as hard and as swift as the fever itself did, making him yelp loudly, nearly jumping out of his skin.

_‘What is that?!’_ He screams internally, since when did Craig’s scent cause him to—

“Tweek?”

His voice—nasal and growing deeper with age, one Tweek could pick out of a crowd—sends a wave of warmth through him. His dick twitches interestedly and Tweek resists the urge to grab himself and squeeze until the pain makes it go away.

“Tweek I’m coming in,” Craig announces, voice carrying an undertone of concern.

“ _AGH, no!_ No! I’m okay! Jesus—I’m coming out!” He grabs the door handle before Craig does it for him and rips the door open. Blue eyes blink at him, and Tweek flushes red. Those _eyes_. He wants to grab Craig, pull him down for a kiss and feel his strong hands on his hips—his favorite place for them—and—

“You okay?” Craig asks, placing a cool hand on Tweek’s forehead. He’s hot and clammy from the shower and it’s hard to tell where his fever is because of it.

“ _Fine!_ ” Tweek yelps. “I-I’m okay, Craig… It’s just the fever,” He crowds into Craig’s space and leans against him. The taller boy’s arms come up to wrap around him in a gentle embrace. “I don’t feel well,”

“I know babe.” He kisses Tweek’s forehead, enjoying the blush on the shorter boy’s face. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

Tweek nods, stepping away reluctantly. The Tucker’s, after years of sleepovers, decided that now that the boys are dating, they should sleep in separate rooms. There’s no available guest room, so they tidied up the attic, putting an air mattress, small dresser and lamp up there for Tweek to use. The ladder leading up is already down, having been left that way when he came down for school that morning. Tweek doesn’t want to climb it—what if he falls to his death? —but he follows Craig up it at a slow, careful pace regardless.

He has to be _brave_. He helped save the world, once, or at least South Park; he still has his Wonder Tweek headband, kept in a shoebox with other important things.

The attic is dusty, dark and rather cold, but he’s made peace with the ghosts that inevitably would’ve eaten his soul did he not leave offerings of coffee to placate them, and after a couple years it was like home away from home.

Right now, however, something’s… off. It’s not _cozy_ , or _safe_ feeling. It’s too open and exposed. There has to be a way to fix it. It’s almost purely instinctual that he goes to the bed and starts re-arranging the blankets, building them up and curling them around until he has a small nest with a depression in the center. It’s still not right—he’s _missing_ things, and the longing to have them settles in his weary bones like an unscratchable itch. Like the constant buzzing in his wired brain, only _worse_.

Craig scents his discomfort and looks at the shabby creation.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, moving towards the bed. Tweek grabs his arm, stopping him. A glare furrows Tweek’s brow.

“D-don’t mess it up! It’s not done!”

Craig relaxes the muscles tensing to move him forward and rocks back on his heels. “What’s not done?”

Tweek shakes his head. He doesn’t know what it is he’s building, just that it’s important and _incomplete_.

“I don’t… know…”

Craig’s mouth thins into a line, dissatisfied with an answer that doesn’t lead to fixing the problem. “Okay. Why isn’t it done?”

Tweek shakes his head again, hands going for his hair to grasp and tug. “ _Rrr…_ It’s missing something!”

“Missing…?”

“Can I have more blankets?” Tweek asks, gritting it out between clenched teeth. “And—your shirt! I need your shirt!”

“My shirt…?”

“Yes!”

“Why do you need my shirt?”

“I don’t know!”

“…Okay,” Craig shrugs. They’ve been topless around each other many times in the locker room or swimming so it’s not like he has a problem with being topless around Tweek, it’s the rationality of the request that he doesn’t understand yet. He pulls his shirt off and hands it to Tweek, who shoves it against his nose for a great big inhale.

Pheromones leak through the room, Tweek’s coffee-caramel scent soaking into the air. A dribble of slick slides down his thigh. The spike of arousal is unexpected, and Tweek curses his baggy pants. He turns away quickly, using the distraction of adding Craig’s shirt to the arrangement to hide his wide-eyed panic.

“Tweek—”

“Boys?” Laura calls from below the ladder. “Are you up there?”

“Yes,” Craig replies.

“Your father is on the way home now. Does Tweek need anything?”

Tweek makes a sharp noise and scrunches his shoulders together tightly. He wants to ask for more blankets, Craig’s mom’s comforter and one of his father’s shirts. He wants everything Craig owns because _he needs those scents_. But he doesn’t understand _why_.

“I think so…” Craig answers uncertainly, watching Tweek rearrange the structure again, swaying on his fevered feet.

“What does that mean?” Laura asks.

“I don’t know. I think we need more blankets,”

“Blankets?”

“Tweek’s building a fort.”

“A fort?” Laura repeats, huffing and deciding simply to climb up the ladder. Her son’s curtness is useless sometimes, for all he’s blunt and straightforward. When she reaches the top, she sees what Craig means. Tweek has made a circle out of his blankets and Craig’s shirt—which gets a raised eyebrow from her—and is poking at it dissatisfiedly.

“Why are you shirtless?” She asks, pointing out the obvious.

“Tweek needed it for his fort.” Craig points at the construction of blankets on the bed.

It only takes her a moment to connect what’s actually happening with what she’s seeing.

 “Oh, of course, his nest.” Laura’s voice holds the tone of one who just realized they should be aware of something obvious. Craig blinks at her.

“Nest?”

Laura sighs. “It’s an Omega thing, honey. He’s building a safe place to have his heat. Which means I’ll probably be getting all the blankets in the house. Tweek, sweetie, what do you need for your nest?”

Tweek shakes his head—his thoughts are cloudy, confused, the heat is growing worse and his nest isn’t at all right yet.

“I need, Jesus, I need more sheets, Craig’s blankets, y-your comforter… Mister Tucker’s shirts… I wish Clyde were here… a-and Token…”

“What the fuck?” Asks Craig, feeling suddenly out of his depth.

“For the nest.” Laura clarifies. “Omegas want to be surrounded by the scents of their pack and family. I’m touched you want to add my and Thomas’ scents to your nest, Tweek. I could go to your house and pick up some things of your parents’ if you need me to.”

The Omega pauses, considering. Did he want anything of his parents’? Maybe his mother’s afghan, or his dad’s sweater… but somehow that felt wrong. He shakes his head slowly, careful of how dizzy he is.

“No… thank you Misses Tucker,” He glances at her, feeling shy and like a burden to his boyfriend. “I shouldn’t be doing this here,” Tweek whispers.

“Babe,” Starts Craig, walking over to Tweek’s side and taking his quaking hand. “It’s alright. You can’t go back to your house now.”

“Oh God,”

“It’s okay,” Craig tries to soothe.

“No! What about the coffee shop?” Tweek gasps. “I’m supposed to open it after school!”

“Tweek—”

“My dad’s going to kill me with metaphors!” Tweek yanks his hand from Craig’s to pull at his own hair anxiously. “Or with knives!”

Laura moves to Tweek’s other side. She carefully disentangles his fingers from his choppy yellow hair.

“Tweek, there is no way you are working tonight. Or for the next few days. I know it’s new to you, but you’re _in heat_ and you have a high fever, which means South Park will just have to survive without their coffee shop until it passes.”

“But—”

“It’s their fault for not having anyone who can work there if you’re sick.” She points out calmly. “This was bound to happen one day.”

“Oh man,” Tweek moans, making an aborted reach for his hair again. “This is so _bad_ ,”

Craig presses a kiss to Tweek’s damp temple. “You’ll be okay, Tweek.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny eats lunch! He's super happy about it, too. Until he starts feeling sick. And then he hangs out with Clyde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos'... y'all are the best <3 Knowing that you're enjoying the story means so much to me!
> 
> I apologize in advance for something--I firmly believe Kenny will have some kind of speech thing in this story, a combo of his parent's accent and a habit of mumbling that comes from a lifetime of being rather muffled. I haven't fully figured out how I want to express that in writing... yet... so if there's some incongruities in how he speaks ignore it >_>;

* * *

 

Kenny truly appreciates Tweek sometimes. The boy brings lunch almost every day, and almost every day he eats exactly none of it, leaving it as easy prey for a hungry Kenny. That sandwich was delicious, and the apple crisp. He filled his empty stomach a bit and that makes the day much better.

Craig and Tweek don’t appear in any of his classes the rest of the day, and he assumes they both went home. He grins at the thought—Tweek is lucky to have Craig, and Craig seems to be truly happy with Tweek. It’s cute.

He’s a little jealous, however, of their relationship; wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to rely on? To go home with? To care for you when you’re sick?

Kenny sighs, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

Kyle and Cartman are arguing again, squabbling over something or other, Kenny doesn’t care, really, as this is so common, it’s unimportant. Of course, Stan is trying to diffuse and get his boyfriend to stop threatening to kill Cartman.

The air still vaguely smells of Tweek, a richness of scent that lingers in the air among the familiar scents of his friends. It pricks at his nose, and honestly, it’s giving him a bit of a headache. The rabble next to him is not helping. Maybe whatever is wrong with Tweek is spreading, and it wouldn’t be the first time just being around someone who is sick forced Kenny to catch a deadlier version of it. His immune system is shit after all.

Kenny doesn’t wait for his friends to finish grabbing their books for last period; with Cartman throwing out the word “Jew” as liberally as he is, Kenny knows they’ll be late for their class. Kenny shoulders his backpack and gives Stan, always the mediator, a half-hidden smile. Stan nods at him, rolling his eyes.

Leaving ahead, Kenny makes his way down the hallway, which smells stronger of Tweek, a trail following the boy down the corridors towards the nurses’ office. Kenny could probably track his and Craig’s every step by scent alone.

Sniffing, Kenny turns down a different hall, making his way to the back of the school where his next class is. The route takes him past the teacher’s lounge, and the door is open even though the room is occupied.

“—heat, in the middle of the lunchroom!”

What perfect timing—something interesting is going on. Kenny stops and presses himself against the wall next to the open door.

“It’s not his fault—”

“I don’t care! An early presenting in the middle of a school day, leaving that _scent_ everywhere--we’ll be seeing more students presenting early because of this!”

“That’s just a myth,”

“No, it’s not! An Omega’s heat can trigger the presentation of Alphas, which would trigger the Betas and other Omegas!”

Kenny finally places the voices—it’s the Home Economics teacher, and Mr. Addler.

“All this because some kid was screwin’ around,” Addler laments. “The principal is going to throw a fit.”

“ _I’m_ going to throw a fit if they don’t set up a fan and get rid of that smell.” She grouses. “Honestly, if he wasn’t feeling well, he never should’ve come to school. His parents must be idiots, letting their son, _who is in heat_ , go to school and expose everyone to his—his— _pheromones!"_  She hisses as if the word were a curse.

 _They’re talking about Tweek?_ Kenny wonders, not sure who else they could be talking about who got sick at school and was releasing large amounts of pheromones. _And he’s in heat?_ Kenny knows all about heats and ruts, of course, he’s more than enough magazines in his stash and porn is a thing after all. _Poor Craig, have they even had sex yet?_

“Don’t go by the nurse’s office if you’re that sensitive,” Addler warns. “The Omega is in there.”

“I should go by and give him a piece of my mind!” The Home Ec. teacher sneers.

“Don’t do that.” Addler chides. “He’ll be going home soon, I’m sure.”

“When he comes in after his heat, I’m going to have a strong word for him and his parents.”

Kenny slips away, not wanting to be late. His headache is starting to build, a dull throbbing behind his eyes. If Tweek’s heat is contagious, which is what he takes from the conversation he just heard, 10/10 Kenny will have caught it.

It’s bound to be interesting at least; Kenny has been looking forward to presenting, always wondering about his future dynamic and that of others. He guesses what his friends will be now and then, but if Tweek sets off a chain reaction of students presenting before they turn sixteen then it won’t be long before he knows.

* * *

 

Tweek is getting antsy. He’s painfully hard and trying desperately to hide it. Laura and Craig had worked quickly to get him materials for his nest; Craig’s blanket and sheets, Laura’s pillow case instead of her comforter, and one of Thomas’ shirts from the laundry. It had taken a while to build the nest the way his instincts were demanding it be made, but in the end, it was an acceptable construction, if missing some pieces.

Thomas arrived some time during the passing of materials, and with a heavy flush on his skin handed up the ladder a pack of heat underwear, special briefs Omegas can wear to catch their slick. Embarrassingly there’s easy snaps for a flap in the front. He also purchased a couple boxes of tissues and helps them set up a fan and trash can in the attic.

Laura lingers with Tweek and Craig, biting her lip and looking mildly uncomfortable.

“What?” Craig finally asks. Tweek is huddled in his nest, knees drawn up to hide his erection, whimpering quietly.

“Craig, I’m sorry to say this but I need you to stay away from Tweek for the next few days.”

“ _What?_ ” The brunette’s dead voice drops in depth.

“He’s in _heat_ , you realize that? I am going to assume you two have _not_ had sex yet, and don’t you dare tell me you have, but heat is all about mating, he’s going to be— _interested_ in sex for the next few days. You need to stay away from him. He can’t consent now that it’s started.”

Craig is quiet as he takes that in. Tweek rarely got to stay at the Tucker house for more than a night, and here his boyfriend is with him for a week and now his mom wants him to stay away from him? Bullshit.

Tweek mumbles a quiet, _"Oh God,"_ and curls up tighter. The pain in his belly is nearly unbearable.

The subtle scent of Craig is comforting and driving him crazy both, something he wants badly but also doesn’t sit quite right. Craig’s scent it too soft, he doesn’t smell interested. It’s confusing Tweek, who wants to jump Craig right there and kiss him and touch him and be touched by him. When they’ve never gone further than making out and above-the-clothes exploring, Tweek _wants_ him.

“Craig,” He croaks. “ _Nng…_ You should go,” Tweek hides his face in his knees. He wants to grab his cock and find release, why won’t they leave him _alone_? “Oh God,”

“Tweek—”

“Why don’t you go get Tweek’s coffee?” Laura suggests. “You can bring it up to him and check his fever, then you’ll help me start on dinner. I’m thinking stew.”

Craig frowns deeply, completely displeased by the turn of events. “Fine.” He concedes, going for the ladder.

Laura does not follow him. “Tweek, honey, I know you’re uncomfortable, and I’m sorry you have to have your heat somewhere other than at home.”

He flinches harshly, still curled up tight. “I-it’s okay…” He was much more upset at how horribly embarrassing and inconveniencing he’s being. He does _not_ want to go through whatever heat is at Craig’s house where he can humiliate himself. But it wouldn’t be easier at his house, not at all. His dad wouldn’t let him have any privacy, and would probably spend hours talking about the beauty of growing up or something.

Craig returns with Tweek’s thermos filled with fresh, dark coffee and the thermometer. He doesn’t ask what they were talking about and he is wearing a shirt now.

He holds out the coffee for Tweek to take, and the thermometer for him to open his mouth. Tweek obliges quickly, and it’s only a minute before it beeps a finished reading.

“102.4”

Tweek jitters out a few noises and drops his forehead against his knees again. He feels just awful, as if he were inside an oven or a coffee bean roaster, flushed and sweaty and pretending he isn’t hard and aching.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. Craig’s hand strokes through his hair and the feeling is electric and wonderful and Tweek wants those hands to touch him more, to open him up so Craig can crawl inside and—

“We’re going to go start dinner. Try to get some sleep, Tweek, and we’ll check on you soon.” Laura beckons to Craig and his hand lingers for a moment before he’s walking away. Tweek is relieved and bereft when they descend the ladder, letting it close up and leave him alone.

Tweek drops onto his side and curls up tighter. He’s never wanted to jerk off so badly before, never needed to, really, but his hand slides down into his underwear without his bidding.

“ _Oh, God, oh, Jesus,”_ The Omega grabs himself, and the feeling is extraordinary. He’s never been one to jerk off frequently—Jesus not with his parents in the house—but the way his cock strains into his hand never felt so good before. Already a bead of pre-come dots the tip, and slick gushes out of his hole, wanting, twitching, aching. Emptiness rings like a bell in his core, something intrinsic and ancient and instinctive is missing.

It hurts.

* * *

 

Tweek’s pheromones fill the house despite his quarantine. A heady, cloying, thick coffee-rich smell that has every window open and the front door too, inviting the bitingly cold wind inside. Thomas restlessly fiddles with the pieces of a model ship strewn across the dining room table while Laura and Craig cloister themselves in the kitchen.

“I should call his parents,” Laura sighs, staring into the refrigerator while trying to figure out what she was even looking for. “They should probably know what’s happening.” Her tone conveys exactly what she thinks about _that_. It’s no secret in the Tucker house, except perhaps from Tweek, that the Omega’s parents aren’t held in high regard. Over the years their flighty, lackluster support of Tweek and tendency to feed his paranoia became a bit of a topic between the Tucker pack. There was no predicting how they would react to their son being an Omega, to his being in heat and most likely to be of their concern—the closing of the shop for a few days.

As if Laura hadn’t attempted to have _words_ with them for expecting their fourteen-year-old to run the shop for a week in their absence. Entirely alone. At least they conceded to let him go to school during the day.

Ah; the lettuce and carrots. She was going to make a salad to go with the stew she planned for dinner.

“How about you don’t tell them?” Craig offers, rolling his eyes.

“They’re his parents, they should know he’s sick. And missing school.”

“They won’t care.” Craig says, voice neutral. He stares out the window over the sink, worrying his bottom lip.

“Yes, they will,” Laura replies, although she’s not convinced. “Cut these carrots for me.” She hands the bundle to Craig, who takes them without complaint.

“No. They won’t. They’ll just say if he’s not in school he should be at the shop.”

“You don’t know that,” She huffs. “They’re his parents.”

 “And?”

“And… I don’t really have a choice.” 

“All they’ll care about is that stupid coffee shop.”

She doesn’t have an argument for that.

* * *

 

By the end of the school day Kenny is sure he’s caught whatever plague Tweek brought to school with him. Something other than _heat_ , that is, because _heat_ is a natural thing and there’s no reason for it to feel like the flu with a side of _death_. Or so he assumes. Heats are supposedly unbearable on their own, but not deadly, and probably not so nauseating. He vaguely wonders if Tweek still feels sick with it or if he’s just horny now.

At least he has Craig to help him through it. He takes a moment to indulge that fantasy—they’re a cute couple—he can’t help himself from imagining what they’d look like fucking. Tweek would be shy, a blushing, trembling mess wondering if he’s going to screw it up and maybe Craig would take off that dumb hat, hair damp with sweat as he kisses Tweek into submission.

Ah, how hands would blaze trails and fingers would grasp. Tweek would have to be gagged if Craig ever wanted to spread the boy’s legs in his parent’s house.

Damn.

Now he’s a bit aroused, and he has a headache. Oh well.  Worth it.

“Kenny!”

“Hey Karen,” He smiles wide, half-hidden under a thrift store scarf and the upraised collar of his parka. “How was class?”

“Boring as always,” She replied, falling in step with him as he turns to go.

“You’re jus’ too smart for your classes.” He reasons, something he’s declared time and again. “You should be with th’ AP kids.”

“I’m not that smart,” Karen rebuffs, but she’s smiling.

“Bullshit, you’re th’ smartest kid in your grade.” Kenny replied, pride coloring his muffled voice. “You’re goin’ ta be valedictorian.”

“Kenny,” She sighs, fondly rolling her eyes.

“It’s true,” He insists. “I saw th’ future. You’re going to beat that stupid Michelle girl to it.”

Michelle is a girl in Karen’s classes, a real know-it-all and a brat no less. The kind that, if Karen were a little younger, would be getting a visit from Mysterion, Karen’s guardian angel. 

As they approach the exit, they have to pass the lockers. And there is Clyde, struggling to figure out how to balance three different backpacks, and Kenny remembers that the brunette had promised to bring Craig and Tweek theirs to them later.

“God dammit,” the nasal voiced boy curses. “Why did I offer to do this?” He had tried combining the backpacks into two, but they were too full of textbooks and notebooks, binders and pencils, and Tweek’s emergency thermos.

Kenny pauses, so Karen does as well.

“Hey Clyde,” The blond calls, alerting the chubby boy to their attention. “What’cha doin’?”

“I was going to take these to Craig’s house but now I’m thinking _fuck it_.” Kenny chuckles, although his head throbs with the chuffs of air.

“Y’need any help? We pass Craig’s house on th’ way home, I could take one of ‘em.” At that Clyde looks up, raising an eyebrow.

“You’d do that?”

“Sure. Goin’ that way anyways.”

Clyde’s frustrated face breaks into a small grin. He tosses Tweek’s army green backpack at the other boy, who catches it easy and swings it onto his shoulder. Kenny has no backpack—he gave his to Karen long ago and he rarely bothers to take home anything anyways.

“Thanks dude,” Clyde’s relief is audible, and his smile easy. He doesn’t pay much attention to Kenny, usually, but the blond is always helpful when he can be, and Clyde can appreciate that. 

“You don’ mind th’ stop, right Karen?”

“Nope!”

The three leave the school together. Other kids pass by them like schools of fish, flashing colors and loud voices. It’s frigid outside, the kind of cold that promises ice and heavy winds that drag at every limb. A storm brews above them in fat grey clouds, pregnant with downy snow. 

Kenny pulls his threadbare parka tighter around him, yet again wishing he could afford a new coat; the last time he raided the thrift store had been for gifts for his mom and sister, and now he couldn’t afford one. At least Karen was warmer in her hot-pink snow coat. He’d been awfully pleased to find it. Clyde seems mostly unperturbed as well, quietly walking, as if deep in thought.

Kenny finds himself wondering what kind of thoughts Clyde keeps in his head.

It’s not far to Craig’s house from the school—only a twenty or so minute walk. South Park is bustling, growing, expanding year by year. More houses have been built and new businesses opened. Some things remain unique—there is still just the one coffee shop, the one abortion clinic, the one candy shop and the City Wok owner still drives out any other Asian restaurants that dare try to establish themselves in South Park.

It’s all in thanks to the Whole Foods and to ShiTiPa Town and SoDoSoPa. The gentrification of South Park half-succeeded, until it collapsed. Now the corpses of good intentions litter the bad part of town, offering strange shelter to the homeless and vagrant.

They approach Craig’s house and a memory has Kenny pausing at the driveway. Tweek is in there, and Tweek is in heat. If Tweek is in heat then that could cause them to present early. Or so the Home Economics teacher suggested. Even if she’s wrong Karen shouldn’t be exposed to that.

“Wait here, okay?” Kenny directs. “We’ll only be a minute.” Karen’s brows furrow.

“Why?”

Kenny promises, patting her shoulder. “Jus’ stand here for a moment.”

“Um, okay…” Karen trusts Kenny when he tells her to do something, but that doesn’t lessen her confusion any.

Clyde gives him a weird look. Kenny shrugs and makes for the door.

* * *

 As the afternoon went on it became too cold to leave the house open as they were. Thomas closed the front door and the windows and set up a standing fan instead, setting it to oscillate the air in the living room. Unfortunately, Tweek’s pheromones have sunk through the floorboards, settling into the bottom level of the house in a heavy steeping of coffee and caramel.

Craig is mindlessly chasing aliens on his phone, long having finished helping his mother cut up vegetables for the stew and salad.

He’s interrupted by a knock on the door, and it’s a welcome distraction from the awkward nothing-is-happening in his house.

Kenny and Clyde stand on his front porch, and before they can even speak, he can see them be struck by the powerful scent escaping the house.

“Jesus Christ, are you making coffee for the whole town?” Clyde asks, nose wrinkling.

“No.” Craig answers. He doesn’t feel like explaining anything.

“Is that Tweek?” Kenny asks, shameless. “Smells like him. He was stinkin’ up th’ lunchroom ‘member?” He adds, when Clyde and Craig level him with two different but equally confused looks.

“Yes.” Craig confirms blandly. “Why are you here?”

“We came to deliver your backpacks,” Clyde explains, hefting Craig’s blue backpack off his shoulder. Kenny does the same with Tweek’s, holding it out to Craig like an offering.

“Oh. Thanks.” He takes the first backpack and drops it just inside the door and to the left, and then grabs the other, placing it next to the first.

“Do you and Tweek wanna hang out?” Clyde asks.

“No. Tweek’s sick.”

“Oh, right.”

Craig rolls his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Uh, no, I guess not.”

“Okay then.” And Craig shuts the door.

Clyde sighs loudly. “Man,”

Kenny shrugs, hopping off the stoop. His head is absolutely pounding and his semi-empty stomach does not approve. He’s ready to go home and curl up under his blanket for a dozen hours.

The scent of coffee is still lingering around him, heady and enticing. Coffee would be nice. But he bets the shop is closed if Tweek is still sick.

Karen is waiting where she was left, and Kenny turns to bid farewell to Clyde, only to see the dejected, downturned angle of his face. Something just says Clyde needs to talk. Kenny waits until it’s obvious the husky boy isn’t going to walk off.

“’Sup, Clyde?” He asks, rubbing his freezing hands together.

The brunette shrugs. “I don’t really wanna go home,” He admits. “Dad’s been acting weird.”

Kenny frowns. Everyone knows Clyde’s dad has been “off” since his wife died, but that was years ago, and Clyde never talks about him.

“Hang out with Token?”

“Nah, he’s got AV Club on Wednesdays.”

“Ah,”

Kenny lingers, awkwardly thinking over what to do, while Karen patiently stands besides him.

“Can I hang out with you?” Clyde asks, glancing hopefully at the blond boy.

“Y’wanna hang out with _me_?” Kenny repeats, a little uncertain.

“We used to hang out a lot,” Clyde shrugs. “If you don’t wanna it’s fine.”

Kenny weighs his options quickly—go home and try to sleep and feel better, or do something good.

“Alright, sure. I don’ mind. But my house ain’t any fun.”

“Really?” Clyde ignores the last part, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Yeah, I mean, if ya want.” Kenny shrugs. “I jus’ chill after school.”

“Sounds good!”

“Okay,” Kenny gives a short beckon with his hand and begins to lead the way to his house. It’s a cold, long walk, and they pass Kyle, Butters, Stan and Cartman’s house on the way. Randy is in his yard, checking the mail. Kenny waves as they pass.

Trash piles along the road, the already laid snow growing grungier and blacker the closer they get to the train tracks. The broken-down cars and the bones of the ShiTiPa Town buildings loom over them, encircling Kenny’s house like the skeletons of dead predators, broken and dilapidated.

Kenny’s front door isn’t locked—not only are one of the parents and the eldest sibling home, but there’d be no need to lock their doors; nobody would ever steal from the McCormicks—one could find more worth stealing in the county dump.

Stuart is lounging on the ratty sofa, a beer in hand. Behind him a tacky neon BEER sign blinks and buzzes with electricity. He glances over at them when they enter the house but otherwise makes no acknowledgement of his children and Clyde.

Karen immediately departs for her and Kevin’s room and Kenny leads Clyde quickly to his.

He locks the door to his room behind Clyde, going over to his bed and dropping down in it after. His feet are wet, his body chilled and freezing from the already laid snow and wind. Clyde lingers awkwardly in the belly of Kenny’s room, unsure where to sit or what to do in the near-barren space.

Kenny rubs his temples, willing the headache plaguing him to depart. It only settles deeper into his grey matter, taunting him with sharp edges. The boy leans over his bed, rummaging underneath it to pull out a shoe box. Inside is a glass pipe, a metal grinder, ratty lighter and a small baggie of weed.

“Want some?” He asks Clyde, opening the baggie to pack a bowl.

“Uh, sure.”

Kenny nods once, stuffing the bowl with a couple pinches of ground weed. He flicks the lighter, pulling at the pipe until a wisp of smoke curls up from the glass, inhaling deeply. Once done, he holds it and the lighter out for Clyde to take.

The brunette sits down on the bed besides Kenny, striking the lighter until the flame flickers on. He pulls a deep breath, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs, before coughing it out and holding the pipe and lighter out for Kenny to take.

They rip on the pipe until the bowl is nothing but gray and black ashes and they both feel a pleasing curl of numbness in their bellies. Kenny, after pulling that last ashy dredge of warmth from the pipe, lies down on the bed and Clyde leans back on his hands.

“Do you still have that dress?” Clyde asks, looking around at the various posters of women on Kenny’s wall.

“Yup,” The blond replies. Weed does wonders for that persistent headache of his, but nothing good for the feverish heat that’s been slowly growing.

Clyde chuckles. “I always thought you looked really cute in it,” He admits, thinking fondly back on Princess Kenny, the way the boy would dance and jig around in that wig and dress, playfully flirting with every boy she came across.

“Why shucks,” Kenny replies. Of course, he looked cute as _fuck_ as Princess Kenny.

“Are you still a princess?”

“Why d’you ask?” Kenny mumbles.

“Dunno. Just wondering,”

“Yeah,” Kenny answers. “Got th’ crown and jewel n’everythin’.”

“Neat,”

“Mhm,”

They fall into an easy silence, just indulging in the lightness of a good smoke. Unfortunately, a side effect rears its head pretty fast, and Kenny’s stomach growls loudly.

“Fuck,” The blond rolls onto his front, an arm dangling off the bed. “M’hungry as fuck,”

“Go get snacks?” Clyde suggests, staring intently at this one poster—her eyes, they’re so… mysterious.

Kenny snorts. “What snacks? No food here, man.”

“Aww…” Of course, there’s no food. “We should get food.”

“No money either.”

Besides, the weed’s not doing shit for what he’s sure is a growing fever. That headache is turning into full-body pains, which will undoubtedly become worse over time until he dies of the fucking flu. Or whatever it is. Kenny doesn’t want to move anymore today.

“Right,” Clyde sighs, dropping back and lying on top of Kenny’s legs. He didn’t seem to realize that would happen, and looks at the blond’s feet questioningly. A thought occurs as he stares. “You need new shoes.” He pokes at them, dirty, with holes in the fabric upper, laces frayed and blackened by years of grime.

Kenny’s feet twitch. “What did I jus’ say?”

“I could get you new shoes,” Clyde offers. “Dad still has that shoe store.”

Kenny half sits up, blinking blearily. Shoes sound fucking wonderful. He’s no idea what warm feet even feel like anymore. But… “Nah, if I got new shoes they’d be for Karen. Hers are worse.” They’re not, in fact, worse, but they’re not great either and Kenny would much rather see her with new ones than himself. They’re on his thrift store shopping list for “one day”.

“I could get you both new shoes.” Clyde shrugs, meeting Kenny’s wide eyes.

“Seriously? But we can’t pay you.”

“So?”

Kenny fumbles. “I-I dunno man, I’d feel bad. Isn’t th’t like stealin’? I’d have to do somethin’ for you too.”

Clyde blames his suggestion on the weed, his lack of inhibitions and the fact that Kenny’s eyes are so fucking _blue_ , staring at him as if he’s offered the boy a winning lottery ticket.

“You could kiss me.”


	4. Once Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss is a promise. Tweek's parents are on the phone. Carol has news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and hello again, my beautiful readers!
> 
> I can't thank you enough for all of the wonderful comments and kudos that I've received! I love knowing how you feel about the chapters, and I appreciate hearing from you.
> 
> When I'm feeling low I go back and re-read comments and they help. I've had a terrible week of nightmares following the passing of my beloved cat last Thursday. You all help. Thank you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter <3
> 
> Things get a little steamy <3

* * *

 

Tweek rolls in the imperfect nest, huffing loudly. His instincts are screaming at him, but what they want he doesn’t know. His mind yells, demanding relief he’s been trying to provide. It’s not working—he’s come three times already and he’s still hard. He’s thrown up too, twice, bile sloshing into the trashcan. The boy is utterly miserable, tears tracking down his face.

He wants Craig. He needs the comfort of his boyfriend to tell him he’ll be alright. But Craig is downstairs, avoiding him, and Tweek won’t see him for _days_. This is hell. The sheets are ruined from his come and slick, as he hadn’t managed the energy to wiggle into a pair of heat pants yet. Everything will need to be washed twice at least. Shame makes it all so much worse, knowing he’s ruining his boyfriend’s clothes, the families’ sheets and blankets. They’ll have to burn all of it after it’s over. He’ll never be able to make it up to them.

“Jesus,” Tweek whines, a pulse of _need_ thrumming through his livewire body. He reaches for himself again, but his skin is painfully sensitive from being striped so many times and it hurts in a way that still manages to feel _good_. Tweek rolls onto his front, on his knees, trying to bring relief to his cock when his body feels so empty. Fingers instinctively abandon his dick and slide over his slick covered balls to find the place behind them, the hole clenching on nothing, slick dripping from it. Just touching it feels good enough to make him moan, and shaking fingers brush over the puckered muscles in an inadvertently teasing way.

Mindlessly, Tweek works one finger into himself. There’s a spark of relief, not very big but noticeable. His body wants something in there, and Tweek is too sick and hot to deny it. One finger working in turns into two, into three before that’s all he can take; it burns but it feels so good as well. He rocks jerkily onto his own fingers, seeking that fullness, trying to imitate the feeling of being taken. It’s not _enough_ , but it’s better than pawing uselessly at his unrelenting erection.

“C-Craig…” He whimpers, as images come unbidden of his boyfriend. They’d talked about going this far before, but they haven’t, yet, and Tweek wants him. He imagines the black-haired boy running tender hands over his flank, slotting his hands on the bony articulations of Tweek’s hips, of long, lingering kisses and fulfillment. It would be perfect if only Craig were—were—something. _Here_. But the Craig he imagines, the Craig whose cock is dragging in and out of his body isn’t even enough. There has to be _more_ to it. Tweek wishes he knew what _it_ was, because this madness driving him might finally abate if he did.

The Omega’s fingers thrust awkwardly inside, digging into his body until they find his prostate, lighting up his body with pleasure. Tweek gives a short cry and comes again, untouched. He collapses, fingers coming free, dripping with slick. The muggy attic air surrounds him like a hot blanket, and Tweek _aches_. His body hurts terribly, his head pounds and throbs with each heartbeat.

“I’m g-going to _die_ ,” He whispers to no one, assured of his fate. Everything burns with fever, with heat, both indistinguishable from each other.

It’s only minutes before the heat and desire returns, the empty feeling exponentially worse, begging him to fill himself up again. It’s impossible to resist.

* * *

 

Below him, Laura is on the phone. She prolonged the call as long as she thought was reasonable but now it was definitely time to inform Tweek’s parents about what was going on.

Craig is still in the living room, sweltering under the weight of Tweek’s scent and fuzzy-brained while trying to defeat the alien hoards on his phone. Thomas long gave up on the model ship and went to fiddle with nothing in the garage. Tricia should be home any moment from school, and then there’d have to be some kind of discussion about what was happening here.

The line rings five times before Susan Tweak answers.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi, Mrs. Tweak. It’s Laura.”

_“Oh, why hello Laura. How are you today?”_ She asks, voice pleasant and friendly.

“I’m… I’m alright. How are you?”

_“Doing well, thank you. The coffee convention is very interesting, and we’ve got many new ideas for the shop!”_

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that.”

_“Thank you. What can I do for you? My husband isn’t with me at the moment if you need him as well.”_

“No, it’s alright. I just wanted to call and tell you Tweek came home from school sick today. He’s running a high fever.” Laura glances at Craig in the living room, knowing he’s listening in by the way he’s blatantly staring at her. “And I had to take him to the free clinic.”

_“Oh dear, my poor boy. Is he alright? What did the doctor say?”_

Laura hesitates, is it really right to tell her over the phone like this? But if it were Craig, wouldn’t she herself want to know right away?

“He should be fine in a few days. But the doctor… the doctor said he’s gone into heat. The kind of heat that Omegas have. It’s heat sickness because he’s so young.”

There’s silence over the line for a long minute. Then, _“Oh, I see. My little boy has become a man and I’m not there for him.”_

Oh.

“It’s alright, Susan. He’s—”

_“No, it’s not. He’s causing you so much trouble, isn’t he? My grandmother was an Omega, I know all about heats. And I know we haven’t been home to scent him—I hope he’s not suffering too badly.”_

Laura sighs, thank goodness Tweek’s mother was the one to answer the parents’ shared cellphone. “It’s no trouble at all. He’s made a nest in the attic and we’re keeping an eye on his fever. If it gets worse, we’ll be taking him back to the clinic, though.”

_“I see. The convention is another few days but I think we can make it back sooner. He should be having his heat at home, where we can look out for him.”_

“That’s really not necessary—”

_“My husband will be very upset that Tweek isn’t at the coffee shop, too. We really cannot afford to have it closed for so long.”_

“He’s too sick to open the shop,” She reminds Susan.

_“…Yes, of course. But we were really counting on him. Never mind. I apologize for going off. I’ll talk to my husband and call you when we know what we’re going to do.”_

“Very well.” Laura sighs again.

_“Goodbye.”_

“Goodbye.”

Laura hangs up the phone and replaces it on the wall. Craig’s still staring at her when she meets his eyes.

“She’s not pleased about the coffee shop,” The matriarch admits, watching Craig’s mouthline thin. “But she seemed genuinely concerned about Tweek’s health.”

“Ahuh.”

“I know you don’t believe they care about him but they do. Just, in their own way.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Craig tells her, clicking his phone onto screen saver and getting up. “I’m going to check on Tweek.”

“Take him some more water.”

Craig fills a travel thermos with a lid with water so it won’t slosh as he ascends the attic ladder. Then it’s up the stairs and up the ladder.

The attic is akin to a jungle, muggy and heady, the air saturated and wet until it feels like a literal blanket around him. The nest is rumpled and half-collapsed, and Tweek is—

Craig nearly drops the water.

Tweek hadn’t heard him come up. His lower half is naked and hard, dripping pre-come, ass raised in the air with fingers shoved inside himself. He’s rocking back and forth, babbling strained noises as he drives his hips against his hand, seeking, ever seeking. Craig stares, transfixed until Tweek’s voice reaches a stuttering crescendo and he’s coming, moaning Craig’s name.

The brunette’s never seen his boyfriend like this—had imagined it—dreamed of it—but he was happy to wait for Tweek, shit, they’d been together since they were ten—waiting was never a question but seeing his cute boyfriend fucking himself to thoughts of him—arousal instantly curls hot and heavy into Craig’s stomach, and he licks his lips unthinkingly.

 “Tweek,” He breathes, but Tweek hears, and those chocolate eyes of his are wide, wet with tears and his face is flushed with terror.

“Craig! S-Shit!” He sits up quickly, dizzy, and grabs the nearest fabric to cover himself with. The nest topples on top of him but he doesn’t care, wanting to burrow and hide. “Oh my _God_ , Jesus Christ you _saw!_ ”

Craig stands there stupidly, still holding the water and half-hard in his pants. The scent of Tweek is sweeter, somehow, than it was when he came up the ladder, enticing. He wants to run his hands through that sweat-damp messy hair, kiss his nose and lips and taste the _sex_ coming off of the boy. Craig swallows it down and places the water on the floor by the bed.

“Tweek, it’s okay.”

“No it’s _not! AGH!_ I’m so— _ng!_ ” His words break apart into incoherent grunting, face covered by hands still shiny with slick and come.

“Tweek,” Craig uses his _insistent_ voice, the one he uses to get Tweek’s attention when the panic starts to overtake the boy, like it is now. Brown eyes peek at him obediently, though the blush on his face is far from gone. “It’s okay.” He repeats firmly, once more licking his lips, tasting the coffee-caramel air. “I brought you water.”

“O-oh. Thanks, Craig,” Tweek makes no move for it, simply sitting there shaking like a scared guinea pig.

Craig waits, he knows Tweek’s gong to say something, ask him something stupid probably, something like—

“Do you hate me now?” That.

“No, babe. I don’t hate you. Why would I hate you?” He kneels by the bedside, indulging himself in smoothing fingers through Tweek’s hair.

“Because! I’m disgusting! _Ack! I did something without your permission!_ ” He grinds out, hiding his eyes again. “And you heard me!”  

“It’s not your fault. It’s the heat.” Or so he assumes. A google search of _Omegas_ and _heat_ brought up more porn than informative articles, but thanks Wikipedia for always being there. Now he knows that heat means _sex_ , _mating_ , _fucking for days_ to get it out. And it happens regularly. Monthly. Tweek will be going through this every month for the rest of his life.

“Not my… fault…” Tweek repeats after him, trying to gasp air into his lungs before he cries. “I-I couldn’t help it. All I can think about is you, man,” He shyly meets Craig’s eyes, before hiding his face again. Craig grasps his wrists and pulls his hands away from his face, defeating Tweek’s weak resistance.

“Babe, I don’t mind. You can think of me, if you want to. I _am_ your boyfriend. It’d be weird if you were thinking of someone else.”

Tweek ducks his chin, but his shoulders relax a little. “Oh,”

“That’s right. If it helps you can think of me all you want.” Tweek nibbles on his lower lip, and it’s Craig’s hold that prevents him from grabbing his hair.

“C-could you kiss me?” He asks, eyes flicking around the room anxiously. “I-I would really like it if you kissed me.”

Craig doesn’t bother replying, leaning over the bed and pressing his lips to Tweek’s. The boy responds eagerly, slotting their mouths at a well-practiced angle and parts his lips invitingly. Craig’s tongue licks into his mouth, and he lets go of Tweek’s wrists, who then grabs into Craig’s shirt.

Their teeth collide as Tweek tries to get closer, moaning into the kiss. An itch inside him flares brightly. He _needs_ something, he needs _Craig_ , but Craig still doesn’t smell right. His scent is weak, and it doesn’t sit right with Tweek’s Omega.

They break apart, breathing heavier.

“Better?” Craig asks.

Tweek shakes his head. “I-I really liked it,” He hurries to add. His whole body deflates. Craig doesn’t know what to do. He’s more than half-hard now, aroused by Tweek’s scent, his disheveled appearance, his vulnerability. He wants to touch his boyfriend, make him feel better, but—

_“Tweek can’t consent now”_ , His mom had said. There’s nothing that would kill his boner quicker than doing something to hurt Tweek, even if Tweek wanted it at the time.

Craig stands back up, steps back, and the hurt look on Tweek’s face strikes him hard.

“Craig?”

“Dinner will be ready soon, okay? I’ll bring some up to you.”

“Oh… okay,” Tweek curls a little smaller under the ruined nest, wounded that his partner has pulled away when he needs him most.

“Tweek,”

“Huh?”

“I love you,”

Tweek’s smile is its own reward. “I l-love you, too, Craig.”

Craig retreats quickly after that, closing up the ladder and leaving his boyfriend all alone.

* * *

 

“A kiss?” Kenny tilts his head, not sure he heard right.

“Yeah,” Clyde looks away, counting the holes in Kenny’s shoes instead. There’s four on the left and five on the right. His socks are black.

“Why would y’wanna kiss _me_?”

“I dunno, man. I guess I always wanted a kiss from the Princess.” He flirted enough with everyone, blew kisses and showed off his tits too. Back then they’d played it off as disgusting and hypnotizing in turn, but it was a side of Kenny nobody saw once the dress was off.

Kenny chuckles quietly. “I guess th’t makes sense.” He nudges Clyde until the other lets him sit up properly and looks at him. “But is that _all_ you want from th’Princess?” He asks, fluttering his eyelashes. “It’s not askin’ much for what y’r offerin’.”

Clyde flushes red, and coughs, once. “Uh…”

“I’m playin’ with ya, man. But seriously, I’ll give you a kiss. And owe you a favor too. You can ask me for anythin’ and I’ll do it, okay?”

Clyde nods quickly, eyes glued to the blue of Kenny’s own and heart thudding rapidly. His impulsive request was going to be given that easily? The brunette tilts forward expectantly. But Kenny shakes his head, and pushes Clyde gently back.

“What…?”

“I’m sick as fuck, man.” Kenny confesses. “You’ll catch it if I kiss you now.”

“You’re sick? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not important.” Kenny answers with a shrug. “I’ll get over it. And when I feel better you can have your kiss or whatever y'want, okay?”

“Well… yeah, okay. That’s fine.” Clyde sighs quietly, disappointed. “What size shoes are you and Karen?”

Kenny thinks for a moment, but he honestly doesn’t know. “Fuck if I know. Can we go to the store n’get our feet measured?”

“Yeah,”

“We’ll do that.” Kenny concludes. “But later.”

“Okay. Do you want me to go?”

“Nah, s’long as y’r havin’ fun.” Clyde shrugs. He’s not really having fun per se, but somehow it feels like it’d be rude to say so and then just walk out. They fall into silence again.

It’s long though before that smoke serene silence is broken. Mrs. McCormick arrives at the house, and the door slams loudly behind her. Just as Kenny’d been beginning to fall into a light doze he’s jarred out of it by the sound of shouting.

Clyde tenses up, not knowing what to do. Kenny sits up again, pulling his legs out from under Clyde.

“Uh…”

_“Dammit woman! This is all yer fault!”_

_“Don’t you dare put all the blame on me, asshole!”_

_“If you weren’t such a slut—”_

_“Such a WHAT?”_ She shrieks.

There’s a knock-on Kenny’s door and he gets up to answer quickly. Karen stands on the other side, a worried look on her face. The blond ushers her in and locks the door behind her.

“It’s okay Kare.” He soothes, leading her to the bed and Clyde, who looks particularly uncomfortable.

“Should I go—?” He asks.

Something shatters in the living room, and then Kevin’s voice joins the din. Kenny snorts.

“Y’r not gettin’ out that way.”

“Uh—”

“You can use my window if y’like.” Kenny points out. It’s a grungy, dirty thing, with no screen and a crack winding down the center. A slight breeze whistles as it works its way in.  There’s snow piled outside the window but it wouldn’t be too hard to climb out.

_“I should kill you!”_

“Yeah, I think I’ll go.”

Kenny fights back the familiar feeling of shame that comes with his home. This is why he doesn’t have people over. Besides there being nothing to do, nothing to eat. The effort of pushing open the window only exacerbates his headache but with a grunt the window rises, squeaking loudly.

“Sorry about this man,” Kenny offers as Clyde tosses his backpack up and then begins to inelegantly clamber his way into the snow.

“It’s okay,” Clyde offers. “I’ll see you at school Kenny.”

“Yup,”

Once Clyde is out and darting around the side of the house Kenny jams the window back closed again. Karen climbs onto the bed and leans against the wall.

“You never bring anyone here,” She starts. “Who was that?”

“Clyde. He’s pretty chill.” Karen smiles.

“Sorry he had to leave.” Kenny wraps an arm over her shoulder and squeezes.

“Not your fault kiddo.”

 They sit like this for maybe twenty minutes as the fight in the living room dies and flares in turns.

It’s not until there’s a pounding on Kenny’s door that the sick blond and his sister are jarred from their quiet company.

_“Open the fucking door Kenny!”_ His dad yells, slamming his fist on the wood.

“Stay there,” Kenny orders his sister, sliding off the bed woozily.

“What do you want?” He asks, not yet unlocking the door.

“Family fucking meeting that’s what. Get your sister and get the fuck in the living room.” Their father commands.

Family meeting? They never have “family meeting”s. It can only be bad, Kenny thinks, as he beckons Karen to his side. He waits for their father to stomp back into the living room before opening the door. Karen grabs his parka as they enter the main room.

Carol is on the sofa, her face red with rage. Kevin has a new red spot on his cheek and is glowering at something on the floor where a coffee table would be if they had one. There’s glass from a shattered beer bottle littering the carpet. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Kenny asks. Stuart looms over the sofa, arms crossed.

“Yes, wife, _what’s going on?_ ”

“Don’t you take that tone o’voice with _me_ , asshole!” Carol snaps. “This is as much yer fault if anything! I _told_ you to go to the clinic and get more of them free condoms!”

“That’s _your_ job, woman!” Stuart claps back. “Why should I do it?”

Kenny investigates the carpet, seeing a foreign object amidst the glass. It looks like their old thermometer, but the shape is wrong.

“What’s this?” He asks, feeling trepidation building in his belly.

“What do you think it is, idiot?” Kevin rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pregnancy test!”

Kenny’s blood stops. “What?”

“It’s true,” Carol says, hands fisted tightly in her lap. “I’m pregnant again.”


	5. City Wok and Super Powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things occur! Clyde comes to some revelations; Kenny does what he must; Tweek experiences a sharp pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello my luvs!
> 
> How have you been? I have been busybusy with school! But I hope that you find this chapter a good one! I love all the speculation and wondering about Craig; Why isn't he presenting? Why isn't Tweek affecting him more?
> 
> Goodness, it will all be revealed... uh.. eventually. Next couple chapters, most like. BTW I am super excited about the next chapter cuz a major plot point is coming up and new characters will be speaking (not OCs), and oh! I'm excited to write it!
> 
> I love your comments and kudos', thank you, please comment as you see fit if you're enjoying the fic, I go back to them again and again for inspiration and joy-making :D

 

* * *

 

Craig wants to ask his mother to give Tweek his dinner, not sure how well he will restrain himself if he sees his boyfriend like that again. But at the same time, he doesn’t want anyone else seeing him, knowing the possessive twist in his chest is backed by the logic of Tweek being humiliated enough being seen by himself.

So, he knocks on the attic “door” and waits a minute before opening the hatch and clambering up. It’s not easy with a thermos of stew and a bowl of salad covered in plastic wrap plus silverware, but he manages.

Tweek is asleep when he comes in, having exhausted himself through another orgasm after Craig left. He’s thankfully covered still, his body heaving with his breaths.

Craig decides not to wake him up, instead putting the thermos and salad beside the bed. He refrains from kissing Tweek’s forehead and goes back downstairs.

“How’s Tweek?” Thomas asks, searching the fridge for a beer.

“Sleeping,” Craig replies.

“Good, he probably needs it.”

Craig grunts.

The hours pass slowly. Dinner is quiet and modest, with very little talking and only a few middle fingers lifted. Tricia had to be filled in on what was wrong with Tweek, and she was almost as disappointed as Craig; she loves watching her brother and Tweek together—she’s a huge fan of their relationship and has been encouraging it for years now.

Halfway through the phone rings.

Laura almost lets it go, before remembering that she’s expecting a call from Tweek’s parents. So, she stands from the table and goes for the landline in the kitchen.

“Hello?”

 _“Hello Laura,”_ It’s Tweek’s father, Richard. _“How are you this evening?”_

“I’m doing fine, Richard. How’s the convention?”

_“Oh, just delightful. I’ve got so many new ideas for the coffee shop! It’s going to be like the coming of spring after a long winter!”_

“That’s… good. What can I do for you?”

_“My wife told me about Tweek. What a miracle it is, our boy is growing up. Budding like the first flowers of the year. Yes, it’s quite wonderful. Except... we really cannot afford to have the coffee shop closed for the week.”_

“I understand, but as I told your wife: Tweek is sick. He can’t work right now.”

_“Yes, so Susan said. It’s tragic this happened the week we were away, but there’s nothing for it. May I talk to my son?”_

Laura twists the cord around her finger, a nervous habit and partly why she never got rid of the corded phone. “He was sleeping when we last checked on him.”

_“Would you kindly wake him up, it’s very important.”_

“Wake him—"

_“If you wouldn’t mind.”_

“I think it’s Tweek who will mind, but I can see if he’s already awake. Hold on.”

Laura places the phone on the side table just beneath it. Craig levels a _look_ at her that she blithely ignores. He flips her off for it.

“Tweek?” Laura calls from the bottom of the ladder once she pulled it down. “Tweek are you awake?”

There’s a grunt and an _AGH!_ And then a thump. “Y-yes!” Tweek replies, having rolled off the bed inadvertently.

“Do you think you could come downstairs? Your dad is on the phone and he’s very insistent on talking to you.”

“Oh, Jesus, alright—” There’s rustling above her. Tweek is pulling on a pair of heat pants, his sweatpants and a shirt before he dares to take the ladder. It’s a miracle he makes it down, as uncoordinated and dizzy as he feels. “Oh, god,” Laura waits for him to safely make it down, steadying him when he wavers with a frown.

They make it downstairs and into the kitchen. “H-hello?” Tweek says into the receiver.

_“Hello son. I heard something wonderful has happened.”_

“Jesus, dad, I wouldn’t say ‘wonderful’!”  

Richard laughs. _“Oh, son. Your dewing like the fruits of morning, you’ll see. But listen, Tweek, you need to go open the shop. I know you’re sick but we can’t be closed. And your mother and I can’t come back early, the return flights are out of the question.”_

“O-open the shop?” Tweek exclaims. He doesn’t see the others tensing in the dining room. “I can’t do that! I can barely stand!”

 _“There’s a stool behind the counter. You can sit when you don’t have customers._ ”

Tweek’s breaths speed up, he thinks he might cry. It’s only day _one_ of his heat—how can he work?

_“Son? Take a deep breath. This is all very natural. Our customers will understand. You could wear a face mask so nobody worries about getting sick. This is very important Tweek. You’re old enough to be responsible. I don’t take a day off work if I’m sick.”_

“But—”

 _“Tweek.”_ His father’s voice is stoic, serious, a tone he rarely bothers to draw upon from his lofty ways. _“You’re old enough to understand that we can’t pay the mortgage without money. If we can’t pay the mortgage, we’ll be homeless and I’ll be forced to sell you into slavery.”_

“ _Jesus Christ_ , dad—”

_“You’ll just have to ignore your heat. Didn’t the doctor say anything about a heat null vaccination?”_

“A what?”

_“You know what to do, son. Don’t let me down, okay?”_

Tweek frowns, looking down, though his father cannot see it. “…Okay, dad.”

_“That’s a good boy. We’ll be home in a few days.”_

“Okay,” Tweek rasps.

Richard hangs up, and immediately Tweek starts shivering. Emotions well uncontrollable and violent under his skin, mixing with _heat_ and _fever_ until the boy is hiccupping through tears. He smothers his face, trying not to make noise, but Tweek is never silent, even when he wants to be, and the others can hear him. Laura gets up, as does Craig, and Tricia and Thomas stop eating.

“Tweek, babe, what’s wrong?” Craig asks, following his mother into the kitchen. Tweek’s breath hitches and he gasps through a sob, shaking his head desperately. Distress wafts off the Omega in waves, making the Beta parents uncomfortable, urging them to comfort. 

“I’m sorry!”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I-I have to go!”

“’Go’?” Laura repeats, frowning in disapproval. “Where would you go?” Although she has an idea what he’s going to say.

“I have— _nng—_ to go open—open the shop!”

“Tweek—”

“We’re going to— _agh—_ become homeless! And then my dad will sell me into slavery!”

“Not that again,” Craig groans. “He’s not going to sell you into slavery, Tweek.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Tweek, you’re not going to open the shop, there’s no way you can. You can barely stand!” Laura chides, gesturing to all of Tweek, whose feverish body sways against the brace of the side table. “And it’s not _safe_ for you to be out there now.”

Tweek’s eyes widen. “S-safe? Why not?” His thoughts go wild, picturing monsters in the dark, sharp-toothed dragons waiting to crunch his delicate bones.

Laura sighs. “You’re in heat, sweetie. Heat means your body wants you to find a mate—remember the Alpha from the clinic? The man that tried to corner us?” Tweek nods, though the memory is kind of fever-vague. “Other Alphas will be able to tell you’re in heat. You wouldn’t be safe.”

Craig tenses up beside her—he hadn’t thought of that, that Tweek is a whole new kind of vulnerable right now. He wants to take his boyfriend and lock him back in the attic where no one can get to him.

“Jesus—W-What am I supposed to do?” Tweek asks, trembling hard. “I have to— _agh—_ go! But I don’t want to get r-raped!”

 Craig grabs Tweek’s hand, squeezing. “What if I went with him?” Craig asks.

“And do what? You’re not an Alpha, Craig—you’re not anything yet. You wouldn’t be able to stop an Alpha that’s fixated on him.” 

Tweek looks down. His fingers are shaking in Craig’s hand. “What if… I got the shot from the doctor?” He asks, voice small, grinding out of him.

“The one that will end your heat?” Laura asks carefully. Tweek nods. “Even if you did so that doesn’t change that you’re ill. It’s still not wise for you to be going out there now. The snowstorm is going to hit at any moment, you won’t have any customers to serve.”

“Please,” Tweek drops his head. His vocal ticks mark the seconds after his plea.

“God dammit Tweek,” Craig curses, turning and leaving the room abruptly.

“Craig!” Laura chides, as Tweek flinches harshly.

They don’t have to wait long to figure out what Craig was leaving for—he returns quickly with the thermometer.

“Open up.” He orders, sticking it in Tweek’s face.

Tweek obeys, managing to let it under his tongue with chattering teeth.

“If your fever has gone up—”

Tweek flinches again, to Laura’s disapproval, if the glare she levels at her son is anything to go by. It seems the whole house waits in anticipation of the _beep, beep, beep_.

Craig snatches the thermometer from Tweek’s lips when it goes off, and the dark expression on his face is testament to his own displeasure.

“103.2.”

“It’s gone up again,” Laura sums up, frowning deeply. “You’re really sick, Tweek. I do think you should probably have the vaccination but… I can’t let you go to the shop today. I’m sorry. If the fever goes down after the shot then I’ll drive you to the shop tomorrow. You wouldn’t be open for very long tonight anyways.”

Bullshit, the shop is open until midnight, but Tweek can’t bring himself to contest her words.

“Yes ma’am,” He mumbles, trembling against the wall.

“Don’t “ma’am” me. I’ll take you to the clinic. Craig, I assume you’re coming too.”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then. Get Tweek’s coat for him.”

It’s short order before Tweek is being bundled up in a fluffy down coat, a scarf wrapped around his neck for him. The heat of it is overwhelming, and he stands where they put him, sweltering in the layers until Craig and Laura are ready to go.

They pile into the car as the evening settles in, winds whipping bitterly against their faces.

Craig has a distant look on his face that Tweek has never seen before, one that worries him, and he reaches for the brunette’s hand tentatively. Craig’s fingers wrap around his own as if by instinct, with the look never changing on his face as he stares out the window. Tweek fights back the verbal ticks, failing, and tries to concentrate on the snow outside instead of the cold feeling inside.

Laura glances at them in the rearview mirror as they go, she sees the pinched look on Tweek’s face as he vainly holds back the symptoms of his heat, and Craig, who appears to be ignoring his boyfriend to the best of his ability. She cannot fathom why.

The heat in his blood coils heavy in his belly and groin, that emptiness inside him aches blindingly, he wishes he were back in his nest—the world outside is too big, unsafe, with unfamiliar smells and dangerous people lurking just outside the car doors. They approach the clinic, with its shinning lights and neon sign. Laura pulls into the first available spot she sees, and throws the car into park.

Craig lets go of Tweek’s hand, and the loss of contact comes with a staggering pain that Tweek didn’t expect. He whimpers, grunts to cover it, and pulls his coat tighter around himself. Craig exists the car first, slipping around the side to Tweek’s door, which he opens for the Omega.

“Can you stand okay?” He asks, voice quiet in the face of the wind. Tweek doesn’t know how he’s even sitting, but he nods anyways. Craig offers him his hands and Tweek takes them, letting the taller boy use his strength to help him out and up.

“This is so much pressure, man.” Tweek mutters, holding on firmly. “Your mom’s going to hate me forever!”

“I don’t hate you, Tweek.” Laura assures, coming around to help walk the shaky-legged Omega. “This is just something that happens.”

Tweek shivers in the cold, eyes darting warily around. The parking lot is full and people come and go from the twenty-four-hour clinic; unfamiliar scents are carried on that chilled wind, and Tweek’s senses strain trying to discern all of the emotions contained in them. He feels the world swirl around him, colors and sounds become a painful blur. Craig’s voice mixes with the whirling current, but Tweek cannot make out what he’s saying. Hands hold onto him, and his feet drag with every aided step, but they make it into the warm building together, and dump Tweek into a seat while they talk to the nurse at the window.

“We’re here to get a heat null shot,” Laura explains. “He has heat sickness and a very high fever.”

The nurse types that into her computer. “Is this his first heat?” She asks.

“Yes,”

“How old is he?”

“Fourteen.”

“Alright. You’ll be called shortly.”

At least, because of the later hour of the day, the television is showing a program about house hunting, instead of obnoxious children’s cartoons. Craig sits next to Tweek and Laura takes his other side. Tweek drops his head on Craig’s shoulder, inhaling deeply the boy’s subtle scent. He wishes Craig would rub their glands together, and allow Tweek that comfort. But he could never ask for that. Not while Craig’s thinking about whatever has him looking so distant.

At least twenty minutes pass much like this.

“Tweek Tweak?” A woman calls. Laura stands, as does Craig, and together they get Tweek up and moving. He must be practically dragged to the examination room, but they manage with his slight frame and negligible weight to get him onto the protection pad laid out over the exam bed.

“You’re here for a heat null shot, correct?”

“Yes,” Laura answers. “His fever keeps going up.”

“Has the doctor informed you of all the side-effects of getting this vaccine?” The nurse asks, following the routine of taking Tweek’s temperature, blood pressure and checking his scent glands. 103.5, normal but low, and abnormally swollen and shiny with liquid scent.

“Side-effects?” Tweek squeaks, “What side-effects?”

“Not entirely, I think,” Laura replies. Craig squeezes Tweek’s hand when the blond makes a distressed noise.

“I see—I can go over them with you and if you have any questions that I can’t answer I’ll ask one of the doctors on duty.

For one, since this is your first heat it’s going to affect your cycle. You should normally experience heat every four weeks for four-to-five days. Your cycle may become unpredictable for about a year, where you could have more than one heat in a month or skip a month entirely. There’s no real predicting when it will and won’t come, you’ll just have to be prepared for it. It will affect your fertility as well, and we should discuss contraception at your next checkup.”

The nurse’s lips thin. “And most importantly, the chances are that you won’t be able to make it through a heat without an Alpha to help you.” She says directly, calmly. “Your heat could be so intense that you won’t be able to handle it by yourself, and we sincerely recommend against getting a heat null more than once, for health reasons.”

“ _Too much pressure,_ ” Tweek groans. “I don’t even know any Alphas! How can they even help me through my heat?”

The nurse looks at Laura, then back to Tweek’s wide eyes. “By providing sex, a knot.”

Craig stills besides Tweek, who shivers harder. The brunette’s hands clench, and his neutral expression darkens.

“I take care of Tweek,” He says simply.

“You’ve not presented yet though, have you?” The nurse asks, giving a subtle scenting of the air.

“I will. I will be his Alpha.”

“Craig…” Tweek rasps.

“There’s an old wives’ tales about being around Omegas in heat or Alphas in rut that can cause presentation; there’s some scientific truth to it as well. Perhaps it’ll come true for you and you’ll present early, as well. For now, am I to assume we’ll proceed with the shot?”

Tweek nods his head, already he’s terrified of the repercussions of taking the vaccine. But he knows he can’t back down, however terrifying they are, not after dragging Laura and Craig out here in the middle of dinner, just because his parents are terrible. Tweek bites at his lip, nervousness winning over the low flare of heat that remains in his belly.

“Lastly, things like nausea, night time ejaculation and continued production of slick for a day or two are normal. As well—the fever you have is not necessarily going to respond to the shot. It’ll end your heat but you may just be sick, too. Although breaking the heat cycle should help the fever reduce on its own.”

“Tweek, do you still want to do this?” Laura asks. “We can go home and you can finish your heat naturally. Your parents will just have to accept some things can’t be helped.”

Craig nods, forcing Tweek to meet his eyes, despite the blur to his vision. 

“I’m sure,” Tweek replies, his voice soft and tired, trying to take it all in with the world swimming brightly in front of his eyes. Streaks of light fly by, distracting, and the aches in his joints throb with fire. He wants to go home. He wants to sleep.

“The doctor will want you to follow up in the next day or two to discuss what to do next.”

“Next?” Laura asks, as the nurse pulls open a draw and pulls out a needle, bandaid, wetnap in a little pouch, cotton ball and a small vial.

“Usually, if an Omega uses a heat null the next step is to go on suppressants and scent blockers, but only after they’ve had a full heat. I cannot say for sure that will be how Tweek’s doctor will wish to proceed.” She rips open the needle, connecting it to a syringe and draws a measure of liquid from the brown colored vial. 

“I see,” Laura answers for all of them, as Tweek’s shaking gets worse. He hates needles, they make his skin crawl.

“Ready?” The nurse asks pointedly, gesturing to Tweek’s coat. Craig unzips Tweek, helping him out of the coat and sweater, and rolling up the sleeve under all the layers. The nurse comes over, tears open the wetnap and brushes it over Tweek’s upper arm. “Three, two, one…” She jabs the needle in quickly, ignoring Tweek’s yelp, and depresses the plunger slowly.

Tweek hisses, the solution being pushed into him stings sharply, cold and thick. In a moment it’s over and the nurse is pulling the needle out. She daps the spot with the cotton ball and spreads the bandaid over the small needle-prick.

“There you go. It should take a few hours to kick in, so don’t do anything strenuous or taxing until at least the morning, and continue trying to bring down that fever.”

“We will,” Craig replies, giving Tweek a _look_. “Nothing strenuous.”

“ _Nng_ ,” Tweek grunts.

* * *

 

“What are we gunna do, Kenny?” Karen asks, huddled in his room, on his bed, arms wrapped around her legs for more than warmth. As night falls it grows colder in the McCormick house. The heat has long been turned off, leaving everyone wearing their warmest clothes at all hours.

He sits down besides her, breathing heavily. Nobody has noticed he’s sick, probably dying, and he tries not to make it too obvious, even if it doesn’t matter at all. Even if they realize he’s sick, he’ll die, they’ll forget, and all will be normal. He wraps an arm around her, offering comfort she gladly absorbs.

“What we always do Karen; survive.”

“Dad wants you to get a job.” She says morosely.

“He always wants me t’get a job.”

“But now…”

“Yep. Looks like I’ll be lookin’ for a job after school.” He smiles at her, as best he can. She shouldn’t be worrying about him, not for any reason. “You jus’ focus on school, okay? Big brother will take care o’everythin’.” Because Kevin hasn’t been able to hold down a job, and neither has their father. There are only so many businesses in South Park, and the elder McCormick males have worked at, and been fired from, enough of them that any chances of them getting jobs anywhere reputable are slim. Kenny’s working reputation, while clean, if not under the table entirely, is stained simply by his name and address. He’ll be lucky to be a dishwasher somewhere, like his mom. At least she still has the job at the Olive Garden, so there’s a chance for him, too.

“You always say you’ll handle things, Kenny. But you shouldn’t have to,” Karen levels him with a serious look. “Especially when you’re sick!”

Kenny blinks at her, before sighing. His body deflates, illness shinning through as he drops the strong act. Was he even fooling her a little? Probably not—she’s too observant for her own good.

“How could ya tell?”

“Please, I wasn’t born yesterday.” She huffs, climbing off the bed. “You should be sleeping.” Karen tugs at the single blanket on the bed, pulling it down to where Kenny sits. “I’ll find you something to eat.”

Kenny’s smile grows. His sister is the best there is, no doubt about it. “Yes ma’am.” He salutes, and she laughs, and when she leaves the room to scavenge for rogue poptarts Kenny slides under his covering. It’s the same blanket he’s had since he was ten, probably younger, and is too short for him now, even though he’s not that tall. The cold, combined with frigidness that fever brings is why he doesn’t even bother to get undressed.

He lets his eyes close, lets the fever burn and the world around him swirl without stop. His body throbs and aches, sears with every breath. He doesn’t know how much time passes before his door opens again.

“Kenny,” Karen’s voice sounds distant, sad and hesitant.

“Hm?” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I couldn’t find anything to eat.”

Kenny cracks his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, a sky of moving lights, winking stars and that spider that thinks there’s food here.

Kenny lifts the corner of the blanket and invites her in.

“You’re sick,”

He drops the offering, and closes his eyes. He has to muster all the strength he has just to sit back up again. Where there’s a need there’s a way. Kenny’s done his best to never let his sister go to bed hungry, and he won’t fail her tonight.

He wonders if doing dishes and deep cleaning the kitchen for the night would be good enough payment for some cheap Chinese.

“Kenny no—!” She never should’ve said anything, should’ve let him drift off to sleep instead. But she’s still young, and she keeps nothing from her big brother. He nearly hurls just sitting up again as the room sways dangerously. He’s not sure he’ll make it, but damned if he won’t try.

“C’mon,” He rasps. “Put y’r coat on, get y’r homework, we’re goin’ t’City Wok.”

“Kenny—” He shakes his head.

“Go on now,”

Karen runs off, too hungry to truly protest, too scared for him to let him go alone. It takes all the time Karen is gone for Kenny to stand, and then he pulls up the tightest _“I’m okay”_ mask he can, pretending his head isn’t pounding with his heartbeat and his joints aren’t on fire and he’s not shivering in his threadbare, hole-filled shoes.

The two pass their parents room, the sound of Carol McCormick crying on the other side of their door adds another need to Kenny’s list. They creep by an indifferent Stuart, drunk and half-unconscious on the couch. They approach the front door. It creaks ominously, and the gust of wind that is let in when they open it is enough to half-wake their father, who groans an obscenity.

They shut it behind them.

Outside the storm has begun to rage, ice and snow falling from the sky like meteors in the night. It’s bitingly cold, and the wind rips through Kenny’s meagre layers as if they didn’t exist, as if he were standing naked to face this wrath.

Karen moans unhappily besides him, and he wonders if it would’ve been better for her to stay at the house but—no, City Wok will be heated and if Tuong Lu Kim allows Kenny to work there for the night she can sleep on one of the booths. It’ll be safer.

Kenny takes her hand and leads the way. It is barely nine o’clock, and City Wok should be open for another hour.

Every step is icy, wet, and agonizing. His shoes have soaked through quickly, as have his clothes. Karen’s feet are likely no warmer, but at least she has that coat. He holds her hand tightly. The streets are empty, the roads as well. If City Wok isn’t open, he’ll have to take her to Cartman’s and beg the bastard for some food. Best Friends Forever status should be worth something still—and of course—whatever unpleasant thing Cartman would demand of him in return for leftovers.

“Kenny, you’re going to catch pneumonia like this!” Karen cries as he tugs her onward through a particularly nasty gusting of wind.

“Nah, I won’,” He says, making an effort to sound breezy and unaffected. He’s going to die for sure, but not until her belly is full and she’s safe.

Thankfully nothing is that far away in South Park, even if it feels that way to two poor kids, freezing in a winter storm.

City Wok is open, thank goodness, and Kenny ushers Karen inside before him. Hot air welcomes the siblings, and immediately Karen feels better, while Kenny’s brain swims at the temperature shift. He tries not to fall over. Karen squeezes his hand, her soft brown eyes alight with worry.

“’S’okay, Karen. Go lookit th’menu,” He mumbles, shooing her onward. Lu Kim is eyeing them both suspiciously, though perhaps he recognizes the best of his child labor force.

“Welcome to City Wok, take your order please?” He asks, slurring the “C” and the “L” in his words.

Kenny makes his way slowly to where his sister is eyeing everything she could possibly want.

“Mr. Kim,” Kenny greets, steeling himself. “I was wondering somethin’,”

* * *

 

Clyde locks himself in his room as soon as dinner is over. His dad’s not a mean guy, no, it’s not that, it’s that they have nothing to say now that his mom’s gone. For years now, Clyde’s avoided having a close relationship with his father.

Instead, since Token isn’t free and Craig is obviously busy with Tweek and Jimmy has a gig at some club—he’s just alone, in his room, with his XBOX one, and no one but Cartman is online (and fuck that guy). His mind is on autopilot with the game he has on, thinking instead about his conversation earlier with Kenny. Something odd must’ve come over him to ask _Kenny_ for a _kiss_. For two pairs of shoes. His dad’s let getting his girlfriend’s shoes slip in the past, for cheap, but two pairs for a boy for _free_? 

All for one kiss.

Clyde pouts to himself: that’s not fair. Kenny’s getting a much better deal than Clyde, surely. He deserves more than a kiss. He shouldn’t even _want_ a kiss from Kenny. Guy’s a dude after all, and Clyde’s pretty sure he’s not gay or bi. He definitely still likes tits.

…Maybe Kenny will show him his.

He gives up on the game. It’s after midnight anyways, and he’s tired. Clyde shuts down the XBOX one and drops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe Kenny can do his homework, or clean his room. He certainly can’t _pay_.

Clyde drifts off thinking about how he’ll demand more from Kenny the next day, something more equivalent to two pairs of brand-new shoes than one measly kiss that he shouldn’t have asked for in the first place.

* * *

 

“Go to sleep if you can, babe.” Craig helps Tweek to his nest, sitting the slim blond onto the mattress. “You can worry about the shop tomorrow when you feel better.”

“I’m sorry, Craig,” Tweek rasps, grabbing his hair tightly. “This is so fucked up, man!”

“It’s fine, Tweek.” Craig gently disentangles Tweek’s fingers from his hair, a tender unbraiding he’s done countless times. “None of this is your fault.” He kisses Tweek’s forehead, and cheeks, and lets Tweek turn him into a real kiss. Electric _want_ courses through Tweek’s body, his heat pants are soaked with slick, and more gushes out, tempting Tweek into licking at Craig’s mouth, needy and wanting. He reaches for Craig, arms about his neck.

“I need—” Tweek moans into their kiss, teeth clicking and catching on Craig’s lower lip. “Please Craig—”

Craig responds automatically, crowding Tweek onto the mattress, into the nest, grabbing Tweek’s waist in both hands. Finally, something like relief touches Tweek’s inner itch, a chance to quench the fire inside, if only Craig will get closer. Tweek parts his lips, opening for Craig’s tongue. Invitation accepted, Craig’s tongue dives down Tweek’s throat, filling his mouth, tasting his fever.

Craig’s not an especially passionate person, not known for his physical honesty and emotional indulgence, but with Tweek, here, at this moment, with Omega pheromones begging him for something, Craig can feel himself responding. He remembers the boy he found earlier, with his cock leaking and fingers stuffed inside himself, searching for more. He’s never seen Tweek desperate like that before—desperate for coffee, for attention, for reassurance from his many fears yes—but not often for physical touch.

He allows himself to get lost, only for a moment, devouring Tweek’s noises and holding him steady while he shakes. Their tongues snake over each other, rolling and tasting. Tweek’s hands slide down Craig’s back, slipping around the front to clutch at the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t want Craig to go—he needs Craig, always, always needs him. To keep him steady, to keep his heart where it belongs instead of fluttering right out of his chest.

Craig’s hands are larger than his, his body lanky and taller than his, and they find the hem of his button-up and the first contact of skin on skin is so electric, so longed for and startling that Tweek’s whole body jolts, ripped through with a thrill of arousal he wasn’t even expecting.

“Ah—Craig—!” 

Craig pulls back, startled. “What?”

Tweek flushes brightly, panting through his breaths. He shakes his head—he doesn’t know how to say how much he wants Craig right now.

“You can talk to me, honey.” Craig smooths a hand through Tweek’s messy hair, pinching his earlobe softly before letting so. Tweek squirms, his heat underwear is sticky, wet and gross. He wants to change and curl up forever in mortification.

“Jesus, Craig, this is all just too much for me!” He grinds out. “I-I’m not—oh God, I’m not going to make it, am I?”

“Of course, you will,” Craig rolls his eyes, but affectionately kisses Tweek’s forehead again. “You’re going to be just fine. I’m here after all. Super Craig can’t do it without his Wonder Tweek.”

Something in Tweek settles, just a tad, to hear Craig say that. He knows he asks so much of Craig, but to hear the brunette speak of needing him too—it just does wonderful things to Tweek’s heart.

But then Craig is pulling away. His legendary control reigning him in.

“Get some sleep, babe.”

“But…”

“I’ll get you some coffee, okay? Then you should try to rest.”

_Please don't go..._

* * *

 

Bubbles and food stuffs drift around the fetid water of the City Wok’s dish washing station. Two of three sinks are full of water and water mixed with sanitation fluid. Kenny has been staring at the same dish for several minutes now, just trying to control his stomach.

Mr. Kim was reasonable in allowing Kenny to work in exchange for two meals; however, Kenny wasn’t going to be given his until the work was done. Half now, half later, the man had said. He both trusts and mistrusts Kenny, remembering him from before but all-too-aware of the McCormick reputation.

Hungry, nauseous and in the kind of pain that only comes with a high fever, Kenny had gotten to work. First, he was to bus and wash every table, take the dishes to the back, and leave them for later. Then Lu Kim ordered him to sweep and scrub the floor, which Kenny had done as quickly as possible, sweeping around Karen’s feet, which she helpfully raised.

Karen had watched him work, worry etched in every taut line of her body. She’d been provided with a double large meal, a little bit of everything that looked good to her, and, stomach full, had moved on to doing her homework and watching Kenny.

She’d offered to help him, but Kenny’d waved her off, promising he was fine. She knew he was lying, yet what could she do? Kenny refused to let her help, and when she tried, he’d sent her back to the booth, ordering her to finish her homework. 

The restaurant closed over an hour ago, and Lu Kim had left Kenny a large plate of food, and a key to lock up behind him, but only after taking the cash drawer. 

The faucet drips, water droplets splashing onto the metal bottom of the sink’s middle well.

Kenny has to shake himself back into action, reaching with an unsteady hand for the next dish to clean. He doesn’t want to be at this all night. After the dishes is the kitchen and the bathrooms. Kenny coughs, feeling his stomach starting to come up with the action—Kenny jolts from the sink, tripping over himself to make it to the jumbo trashcan before his stomach empties itself of bile. He’s eaten nothing since lunch, so there’s little to come up, but the dry heaves are just as bad, wracking his slender body with convulsions as he retches. His throat burns, and tears leak from the corners of his eyes at the pain.

It takes several long minutes of agony before Kenny can upright himself. Everything spins alarmingly, his breaths feel hot and gross from throwing up. He staggers back to the sink, engaging the hose to fill his hand with water so he can swish and spit.  He repeats the action several times, until the taste of acid is mostly gone and he can pant, leaning against the cold metal sink.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to eat, when this is all over. Maybe he’ll take the food home with him, hide it in the snowbank outside his window. Leave it as breakfast for Karen. He still has to figure out where her next meals are coming from, and his mother’s; if she’s pregnant she needs food more than ever, and Kenny, who already loves his unborn sibling, wants the little one to be happy and grow healthy.

Problems for when he gets back from Hell.

Kenny finally pulls the last dish from the sanitizer fluid and sets it aside to air dry. He pulls the plugs for the two sinks full of water. Nothing else to do there, the boy goes back into the kitchen proper. Thankfully, he can’t see there’s much left to do—Lu Kim keeps a remarkably clean kitchen for all his food is what it is. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to clean, at least Kenny can only hope so.

“Kenny?”

Karen pokes her head into the kitchen, concern creasing her eyebrows. He drags his gaze from staring ahead at the task at hand and looks at her.

“You okay?” He asks. “Somethin’ wrong?”

She frowns deeply at him, her sisterly instincts are clamoring over each other with what she observes of her big brother—slouching more than usual, eyes bight with fever, cheeks flushed—and he has the audacity to ask her if something’s wrong.

“I’m fine,” She sighs. “I finished my homework. Can I help?”

Kenny looks around until he finds a clock hanging in the kitchen, it reads 12:03 a.m.. “Nah,” He answers, once the numbers stop moving long enough for him to read them. “No need. Go get comfy in a booth n’get some sleep. Y’got school t’morrow.”

“Kenny…”

His eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Go on now, listen t’your big brother. I’ll be done soon.”

She makes a face at him, shakes her head, but disappears out of the kitchen. When she leaves Kenny deflates, feeling the exhaustion weighing down every limb. If he wants to get any sleep tonight then he has to put away all the cold items, wash down the counters and mop the floors.

Only one way to get it done.

* * *

 

Clyde wakes up in a _mood_. He feels—irate—at what, he can’t exactly say. Something inside him is just sort of unsettled.  He huffs and turns over, knowing he doesn’t have time to fall back asleep but he distinctly doesn’t feel like getting up.

He dreamed about Kenny, about Princess Kenny, about Mysterion, and the sensations of each of them were like ghosts caressing his skin. In his dream Kenny offered him a kiss, and then a second, and a third. And with each kiss his iteration changed, from the Kenny he sees every day at school to the mysterious superhero and the coy princess.

It rattled him, shaking something he’d thought was certain inside himself. Had he ever even looked at Kenny like that before? He supposed he had, once, with every other boy who became enamored with the flirty cross-dressing the blond boy had done, embracing being a girl for the game.

Clyde groans, rolling over again, he doesn’t want to go to school today.

“Clyde, are you awake?” His dad’s voice is followed by several knocks on the door. “You’ll miss the bus if you don’t get up now.”

“’Kay, dad,” Clyde calls, muffled into his pillow. He groans again, and flops his way out of bed onto the floor. Once down there, it is somewhat easier for Clyde to work himself up into a standing position. He goes to the dresser and pulls out some clothes for the day. His father scent lingers under the crack in the door, somewhat sharper today than it was yesterday. Clyde can almost feel as though he can discern some of his father’s feelings from the scent, imagines that this is what fatherly responsibility smells like: mild irritation and old coffee. Clyde sniffs again to get rid of the scent, and dresses quickly. He wonders if Craig and Tweek will be at the bus stop today, or if Tweek will be staying back, sick still with whatever is wrong with him. If Tweek is still sick then there is a 50-50 chance Craig will or won’t be at school.

Finally dressed, Clyde leaves his room and makes for the dining room, where his father has helpfully laid out a couple of boxes of cereal, milk, a bowl and a spoon for him. Yawning, Clyde grabs the cereal with the most sugar in it and pours himself a big serving. He has to eat quickly, but that’s never been a trouble for him. He idly checks his phone while shoveling spoonfuls of sugary cereal into his mouth. Facebook is free of any updates from his friends of any interest, as is Instagram, and he has no new texts. Bored with it, Clyde sets down his phone and focuses on the last few bites of breakfast. As soon as he is done, the brunette takes his bowl to the sink and goes to fetch his backpack. His father is already gone, off to the shoe store to work.

Clyde locks the door behind him. It’s a short walk to the bus stop, and despite the snow and ice of the night before the sidewalks are remarkably clear. Snow doesn’t stop anybody in South Park anymore, and the neighbors are pretty good about clearing snow early in the morning.

It doesn’t stop it from being dick witheringly cold, the chill nipping at his cheeks and nose, turning them red along with the tips of his ears. He crosses the block, makes a turn towards the bus stop. After the high school was built, the only bus stop in town doubled as a public bus station and the pick-up place for the high schoolers. Most everyone walked, biked or drove. There is a man and woman at the bus stop, Clyde does not recognize them, but then, he doesn’t care either. The man makes some offhand comment about the wait time for the bus, the woman grunts, and Clyde just shrugs. Several students already waiting ignore both the man and Clyde.

Kyle, Cartman, Stan, Butters, Jimmy, Token and a few others Clyde’s not as familiar with make it to the stop.

“—if you say that _one more time,_ fatass—”

“Lighten up, Jew. It’s just a joke!”

“Guys…”

A normal conversation. Kyle and Cartman have been going at it since kindergarten, and Stan has been in the middle of them just as long. Kenny is noticeably absent—at least to Clyde. His friends seem more used to Kenny’s random disappearances, but Clyde was hoping to see the patchwork clad-blond. He wanted to discuss the terms of their trade—maybe even collect on his share—or not. Clyde’s swirling thoughts still haven’t settled on something worthy of two brand new pairs of shoes. Something bigger than a _kiss_.

He still doesn’t know why he even asked for one. It’s just been so long since he had a girlfriend, he supposes, and Kenny is, admittedly, a very attractive guy. Scrawny, yes, but with eyes so blue they seem otherworldly, and a dedication to people he cares about that is to be admired. Kenny genuinely _cares_ about others, something hard to come across in South Park, maybe in the whole world.

“H-Hey Clyde,” Jimmy greets, pulling the brunette’s attention away from where he was staring mindlessly down the street in the direction of Kenny’s house. He can see the broken structures of SoDoSoPa looming like giants in the fog, threatening to swallow Kenny’s tiny house with their gaping maws.

“Hi, Jimmy,” Clyde replies. “Hey man,” He smiles at Token, who gives a short wave.

“No sign of Craig or Tweek?” Token asks.

“Nope,” Replies Clyde, shrugging once again. “Tweek must be really sick for Craig to skip.”

A snowball whizzes past Clyde’s face, startling him into falling on his ass.

“That’s it!” Kyle is shouting, hands full of snow as he tries to get the upper-hand on Cartman and stuff his clothes with snow. But the fat boy had turned into an overly husky teen, willing to throw his considerable weight around. Kyle has yet to gain the height for basketball as he wishes, and is lean as a tree. He throws snow in Cartman’s face and practically leaps on the taller, wider guy. Stan has both hands-on Kyle’s coat and is yanking on him with effort.

Token offers Clyde a hand and helps him up. The bus rounds the corner, spraying snow under its massive wheels. It pulls up to the bus stop just as Stan manages to disengage Kyle, who stalks past all of them to get on first, his face flushed with anger.

Stan follows behind him, heaving a giant sigh of exasperation. Cartman shoves past Token, Jimmy and Clyde as well.

“Don’t have a fucking cow, _Kyle_!” He’s squawking, brushing snow off his arms and collar. The boys left let Jimmy clamber on first, in case he needed help, and then Token and Clyde board the bus. They pass the full rows and take the first available seats together.

“If I’d known it was just you two, I would’ve picked you up.” Token laments. He is one of the first and only kids their age to have his own car. He rarely drove, because of the provisional nature of his license, but taking his friends to school now and then felt good. “We could’ve gone by Craig’s house to see if he and Tweek were okay.”

“We’ll go after school,” Clyde declares, patting Token on the shoulder. “You can drive us all tomorrow, hopefully.”

Token brightens up a little, and smiles. “Yeah, we’ll do that.”

Clyde feels himself brighten up a little at the thought himself—the irritation that he felt when waking hasn’t abated fully, and he’s not sure why. Nothing happened that should leave him feeling “off” as he does. Maybe it’s because everyone around him seems to have decided not to bathe, and the smell of pheromones from so many people, like walking into a candle shop, was giving him a bit of a headache.

Clyde sniffs instinctively; Token has his phone up and is smiling lightly to himself, reading a text from Nichole, and the happy little scent coming from him is a distinctive odor—pine? Citrus? Maybe a little of both, or perhaps a type of tea. Clyde shakes his head, trying to clear his head of the thought that he is _smelling emotions_. Token chuckles softly at whatever he’s reading, unawares of Clyde’s awakening.

‘ _Maybe,’_ , Clyde thinks to himself. ‘ _Maybe I actually have super powers now?’_

* * *

 

Kenny collapses into the booth opposite his dozing sister in a panting, overheated, nauseated mess. He tries to keep quiet so she won’t wake from her light sleep, but it is _hard_. His lungs burn, his brain burns, his body _aches_.

But it is done. The kitchen, the parlor, the counters to the trash, everything is done. His food is in a to-go container in the fridge. And it’s only… Kenny doesn’t know what time it is. Late. But now he can grab a few hours sleep before walking Karen to school. He can die when he gets her there.

The boy curls up on the seat, glad to have wiped them all down with disinfectant. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the urge to vomit all over the floor he cleaned. He counts to ten slowly, waiting for the burn inside to settle somewhat.

As it slowly recedes, Kenny is able to relax, just a little. He wants to sleep, but he’s afraid if he does then he’ll pass away right there on the booth bench, and Karen will wake up alone and confused, having lost hours of memory and not knowing why she’s at City Wok.

He stifles a groan and turns over, nose to the back of the bench, and focuses on his breathing. If he dies Karen will be alone. This thought follows Kenny as he fall into a restless, unsatisfying daze. He wakes up many times, fighting back nausea and an empty stomach at that.

Somewhere in the night Kenny gives in and falls into a deeper sleep.

So, it is Karen who wakes up first. She’s stiff and sore from sleeping cramped in a booth, but warm. And nobody is yelling. She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Wakefulness doesn’t come easily, as she slept rather poorly on the stiff bench. Still, City Wok is brighter than their house, and Kenny is lying across from her, coughing in his sleep. That must’ve been what woke her.

She slides out of the booth and goes to his side. “Kenny, wake up,” She urges, leaning over and resting a hand on his shoulder. She gives him a light shake. “Kenny,”

“Mrrf?” Comes the mumbled reply. Kenny has to drag himself into wakefulness, but he does slowly, harshly; every breath hurts and his vision swims before he opens his eyes fully. But Karen calls, so he answers.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Karen replies. “I just woke up. But the sun’s out.”

“Okay,” Kenny sniffs, his nose is stuffy and clogged. “Let’s get ya t’school. Go get the to-go box from the fridge in the back and we’ll go.”

“Alright,” Karen goes off to do as he asks and Kenny focuses on getting up. The headache from yesterday is a beast pounding rice against the curve of his skull. He wants to throw up again. Everything aches from poor sleep, cramped up, with a fever. There’s no use complaining; it’s his lot in life to experience some kind of pain and then die.

By the time Karen comes back with the dinner from last night that Kenny didn’t eat the boy is on his feet, holding onto the back of the booth with one hand. He straightens as she approaches, hiding in his scarf.

Lu Kim didn’t leave him a key to lock up with, and flipping the switch before they go out only wedges the door open slightly. Kenny figures the man will be there soon to open and nobody is going to break into the City Wok, so it would be fine if they just left the place unlocked.

It’s no longer snowing, but it is still cold outside and the wind whistles around the decorative edges of the building. Kenny starts to lead the way towards South Park Elementary (and Middle and High) School, clustered on the edge of town.

Kenny is grateful for the silence between them, as Karen seems aware that he’s barely holding it together. It’s a long walk from the City Wok to the school, but Kenny’s cold and wet feet trudge onward, determined to get her in those fucking doors and then he can collapse in a snow bank somewhere.

They’re not far, now, what feels like an hour later.

“Kenny,” Karen calls his attention over a particularly stiff gust of wind. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

“O’course,” He hums in response, smiling back at her, eyes closed to hide the lie. She’ll never know.

It satisfies her for now, and they fall back into silence. When the school does come into sight, they see the buss is just pulling up to the drop off.

Kenny slows down, having confirmation they’re not late. He takes her to the butt of the bus, on the curb.

“Okay, I’m gunna let’cha take it from here,” Kenny explains. “Go on with you.”

“What are you gunna do?” She asks, brows screwed up with worry. She knows Kenny isn’t okay, but she doesn’t know what to do about it. “You’re going home right?”

Kenny closes his eyes and smiles. “O’course. I’m goin’ home t’sleep.” She nods, though he doesn’t see it.

“Off with you now,” He shoos her, when his eyes open again and she’s still there. Karen darts forward and wraps her arms around his middle.

“Get home safe,” She orders. He hugs her back, gripping tightly to remember what it feels like to hug his little sister.

“You know it.”

Karen disengages, and they quickly rub their wrists together, scenting each other there before he leans down so she can reach his neck with her wrist. Nodding again she turns to follow the flow of students into the school. Kenny sighs deeply, feeling the full extent of his illness. He decides to abscond before someone he knows sees him. He does not realize that he is trailing behind him a cloud of _sick,_ a scent of decaying flesh, of vomit, a sour scent; death.

Kenny rounds the corner to the back of the school only seconds before Clyde climbs off the bus, taking an instinctual gulp of air after being in the confined, scent-heavy atmosphere. He filters through the scent of ice and snow, brisk and chill inside his lungs, but inadvertently he takes in the scent death, that sour smell that Kenny left as he walked away. Clyde had never smelled something like that before, at least not so strong, and something about it is familiar and nagging at his senses. Without realizing it he finds himself following the trail of that scent, wandering away from the school entrance and towards the back, around the corner and out of sight.

He’s soon following footprints in the fresh snow, as the smell grows stronger. He rounds another corner and is confronted with the source, leaning against the wall of the school in a small snowbank.

“Kenny?”

“Clyde? Shit,” Kenny groans and shifts in the cold snow. Bleary blue eyes look up at the brown-haired boy interrupting his quiet death. In a few minutes his body will expire and disappear, erasing Clyde’s memory and magically transporting himself back to his house after it’s all over.

“Hey, dude, you okay? What are you doing out here in the snow?”

Kenny sighs, he doesn’t have time for questions, as darkness seeps then at the corners of his eyes.

“Can you do me a favor?” He asks Clyde voice grating over a rocky throat.

“Uh, sure… what’s up?”

“Can ya walk Karen home after school today? I’ll owe ya one.”

Clyde shifts his weight, something uncomfortable tugging at the back of his mind. The smell of rot grows stronger.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because I’ll be dead,” Kenny scoffs over a humorless laugh. He can’t recall how many times over the years Clyde has seen him die; probably not nearly as many as Kyle, Stan and Cartman have, but enough times that if he were going to remember he would.

“Dude, what?”

“Never mind, jus’ do me this favor, okay? If you remember…” Kenny is unsure that Clyde will remember this request at all—people’s memories surrounding instances of his death have never made much sense to him. Sometimes they remember certain events and other times it seems like there memories are wiped completely clean for hours or even days ahead of his death.

“Of course, I’ll remember. But you should go home, man, you don’t look well at all.”

Kenny groans, his stomach growling and gurgling in protest over being empty, being upset, drowning him in acid. “F’rget it,” He mumbles. “Won’t remember.”

“Yes, I will!” Clyde exclaims, whipping his backpack around to his front and jamming his hand into it. A moment of rummaging later yields him a fat black sharpie. “I’ll write it on my hand.”

Kenny watches, the world slowly going gray, draining of color, slow deaths are always the worst. Clyde scribbles on the back of his hand, ‘ _walk Karen home’_ , proudly displaying the words to Kenny.

“I won’t forget,” he promises. “But, uh, can I help _you_ get home?”

Kenny can’t even raise an arm to wave him off. “Nah, I’ll be okay. Go on t’class, the bell’s about to ring,”

“You sure?” Clyde hesitates. Kenny can’t make out his features anymore. Nothing hurts now.

“Mhm…” It’s barely a whisper of voice, of sound. 

“Hey... Kenny?”

* * *

 


End file.
